Ghosts
by Sorsha711
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. JMOFC, FinOFC, PreOE'ish. Set between Seasons 6 & 7
1. Chapter 1

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 1

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch centric with heavy doses of the oh so sexy Fin

Ghosts, Chapter 1

"It's well documented fact, Detective Tutuola, that these large multinational corporations have a legacy of…" John Munch began.

Breaking into his partner's latest conspiracy rant, Odafin Tutuola pointed to the ringing phone. "You're up today. Are you going to get that or have you taken a job with the _National Inquirer_?"

Sending Fin a smirking grin, the lanky detective reached over to grab the phone. "Munch, SVU."

Grabbing up a pad, he began to jot down notes. "Yeah, go it."

Dropping the phone back into its cradle, Munch rose to his feet and pulled on his jacket. "Body found in a warehouse off the Westside Highway. I'll tell Cragen."

"Why us?" Fin asked, shrugging on his own jacket.

"Vic's trussed up to the rafters and has been tortured. First indications are he was also raped," Munch replied, draining the last of his morning coffee before walking over to his captain's office.

Knocking, he stuck his head inside. "Just picked up a call on a body across town. Fin and I are responding."

Looking up, Don Cragen ordered, "Got it. Keep me posted and let me know if you need backup."

-----

Munch took a deep, cleaning breath as he exited the warehouse. Twenty-plus years as a cop, the last eighteen in Homicide and SVU, had exposed him to horrors few could imagine. What they had found inside the warehouse left him struggling not to be sick, something he hadn't done since he was a rookie on the Baltimore force. It was no consolation that several of his fellow officers had not been able to resist the desire and had fled the building to vomit away from the crime scene.

Sadly, he was reminded that the old adage that 'he had seen it all' wasn't always true. He was still able to feel shock and revulsion. Knowing George Huang would tell him he should take comfort in the fact that he could still feel this way was a luxury he could not indulge at that precise moment; it was a weakness the investigation could ill afford. They had a monster, or perhaps monsters, to catch and he didn't have time to feel this overwhelming sense of horror and gnawing fear the scene in the warehouse had set loose in his heart.

"Damn, that is as bad as I can remember."

Glancing over at his partner, Munch nodded. "Yeah. I'm calling Cragen. This won't be an isolated case. Our perp will kill again and probably has already. The rage and brutality… We need to get someone looking for similar cases. This whole scene seems choreographed and my gut says this guy has done this before to get this proficient."

"I had the same reaction." Taking a deep breath, the younger cop turned to go back inside. "I'll see if Warner is about finished and check behind CSU. With all the splatter, they could overlook something and we don't want to miss anything that our perp might have left behind. I doubt he left us much of anything to work with."

"Yeah, it's not likely given the way the site was staged." Pulling out his cell phone, he keyed his commander's number. "Hi Don. Munch."

"This is a bad one. Warner can't tell us much yet given the state of the corpse. I've never seen torture like this. TOD appears to have been a few days ago given decomp. Hands are gone and the face is damaged beyond recognition… teeth and jaw smashed. This guy's own mother couldn't ID him from what the perps left us."

Pausing to listen to Cragen's response, Munch offered, "Don't know race or hair-color yet; this guy was flayed alive. There's nothing left but a pulpy mess."

"Yeah, he was raped… repeatedly. Can you get Liv or Elliot to start looking for cases with similar MO's? Our perp has done this before. Warner says the cuts… the flaying was almost surgical in precision."

"It's only a matter of time, Cap. Both Fin and I… this is just the beginning."

-----


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 2

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch centric with heavy doses of the oh so sexy Fin

Ghosts, Chapter 2

-----

"Damn!"

Slamming down the phone, Fin turned to meet his partner's exhausted glare. "Just like the other two… Hispanic male in his late forties or early fifties. He was alive when the perp began to flay him, but how long he lived after that, Warner can't say. She confirmed he was tortured like the others and raped…. died of blood loss. Otherwise, he was disease free, well-fed, and in good health prior to, so not likely to be homeless. TOD was around 4 a.m. Sunday morning."

"Shit! These are a brutal as anything I've ever seen," Munch growled. "Three vics in less than a month and no clues to who they are. I can't understand why no one has come forward to report any of them missing. Healthy, well-fed men generally have family and friends… someone misses them. Did Warner find anything that might help with an ID?"

"Like vic number one, there were signs of scarring in the muscles of his back and legs… probably from an old injury. She also found a tattoo on the underside of his right wrist. The skin around it was left… apparently deliberately since it was the only skin anywhere on his body. His hand was cut off just above the tat, not through it at the joint." Rubbing his neck, Fin added, "She didn't see it at the scene because of all the blood, but she says it's unique."

Frowning, Munch leaned back in his chair. "Left deliberately… that's significant but what does it tell us? What makes the tattoo unusual?"

"Warner says it's very high quality work… initials intertwined in vines around a butterfly. Can't think that will help us find his name. Butterfly tattoos aren't rare," Fin complained. "Still initials are more than we had before."

"A butterfly? Damn! Yeah, that will help narrow it down!" he groused. Taking a drink of his coffee, Munch continued. "She tell you what the initials were?"

"Yeah… L and R in a fancy script. I'll run over to the ME's for the pictures and the final report. You want to ride along?" Tutuola asked as he gathered his jacket and cell phone.

"Naw… I'll continue to dig through the reports from the other jurisdictions to see if I can find anything that fits our perps," Munch replied, his frustration clear.

Looking up to verify which files his partner had already reviewed, Munch found his attention drawn instead to a woman hesitantly entering the squad room. Long auburn hair had been tied in a simple fall down her back exposing the delicate features of her face. She seemed familiar somehow, but he knew he had never met her. Women that beautiful he didn't forget. Quickly guessing her to be in her early forties, Munch perked up at her reply to Benson's offer of assistance.

"I'm looking for Detectives Munch and Tutuola. I was told they were handling the case… involving the three men that have been found tortured and murdered over the last month." Hesitating as if saying it would make the possibility a reality, she concluded, "I may know one of them."

Trading a look with Fin, Munch rose to greet their visitor. "I'm John Munch and this is my partner, Odafin Tutuola. How can we help you, Ms…"

"Emily Morgan. I saw on the news about the murders and… there's a chance one of them is a friend of mine," she replied, the remnants of a southern accent giving her voice a silky quality… a soft slurring at the end of words.

"What makes you think one of our victims might be a friend of yours, Ms. Morgan, "Fin asked.

Looking back and forth between the two detectives, her story began to tumble from her lips in a manner that betrayed her anxiety. "Roberto was supposed to meet me for dinner last Saturday night, but cancelled at the last minute. He sounded… off. He promised to call me the next day to reschedule. He knew I was worried, so… I haven't heard from him since and no one has seen him around the rooming house where he was staying."

Noting the signs of stress clouding her features, Fin pressed, "Boyfriend?"

Sadly, she shook her head. "No, nothing like that. He's my friend, not my lover. Roberto is a Catholic priest."

"A priest? Why hasn't the Diocese reported a priest is missing?" Munch asked, studying the fine lines and her pale features for clues of why she seemed so familiar to him. A closer review of her face, her eyes in particular, had him reevaluating her likely age upward by as much as ten years. She had old eyes, but he didn't know if that was chronological or the result of hard-won experience.

Sighing, the woman admitted, "Roberto isn't assigned to a church in this country. He's Panadoron and is not here on Church business. He only arrived in the City last month and was staying at one of the rooming houses the Church maintains for visiting priests… the one in Spanish Harlem near Our Lady of the Holy Rosary."

"What is your friend's full name?" Fin asked.

Her soft voice broke as she offered, "Roberto Fonseca y Caban."

"Does your friend have any distinguishing marks… scars, birthmarks, tattoos?" Munch prompted.

Caught off guard by the question, she paused for a moment before answering. "Yes, he has a tattoo of a luna moth on his right wrist… about here," she offered, pointing to the underside of her own. "He may have others, but that's the only one I've ever seen. I know he has some scars, but I can't describe them other than to say they are on his back, legs, and feet."

Catching Fin's eyes, Munch clarified, "A luna moth… like a butterfly?"

"Yes. His late wife's name was Luna, so he got it…." The color drained from her face as the implications of his question struck home. "It's him isn't it?"

"L and R … Luna and Roberto," Fin mouthed to Munch.

Reaching out to take her arm to steady her, Munch spoke to the detectives listening to their conversation at nearby desks. "Elliot, could you give Dr. Warner a call and see if she could email us a copy of the pictures she just discussed with Fin? I think Fin and I need to talk to Ms. Morgan in greater depth. Liv, you might want to give the Captain a heads up."

-----

"Would you like a glass of water or a cup of coffee, Ms. Morgan?" Munch asked as he pulled out a chair for her at the conference table in the main interrogation room. He had not missed the tremors that had begun to rack her frame as the reality of the moment sank into her heart and mind. This was one of the parts of the job he hated most… consoling family and friends. If nothing else, he knew he was better at it than most, despite what some of his colleagues might think.

"No thank you."

Positioning a chair across from her, he watched the memories ghost across her face. He was surprised to note that many of them seemed to be painful rather than the pleasant memories most recall at times of loss. It had been his experience that, regardless of what their life together had really been like, most people that cared about a person chose to remember the good and ignore the bad in the days that followed their passing. That did not appear to be the case with her memories of the dead priest.

"I'm confused, Ms. Morgan. You said your friend is a priest, but you mentioned his wife. How does a Catholic priest acquire a wife?" Munch asked.

Dazed blue eyes lifted to meet his guarded dark-brown gaze. "He has only been a priest for a few years. Luna died of lung cancer almost ten years ago. Once their youngest child had graduated from college and married, he decided to follow the call to become a priest. He seems… seemed at peace with his decision."

Fin settled into a chair next to hers. "How did you meet Father Roberto, Ms. Morgan?"

"Long story, Detective. How much do you want to know?"

Glancing over at Munch, Fin prompted, "We have as long as it takes to get a handle on him. Frankly, until you walked in today, we didn't have any idea who he was."

"Assuming… assuming he is the one that was killed," she hedged, still not ready to accept the reality of her friend's murder.

Seeing Elliot at the door, Fin rose and went to get the copies of the autopsy photos. Sorting through them to find the enlargement of the butterfly tattoo as he walked back to his seat, he began, "Ms. Morgan, we have pictures from the autopsy of one of the victims of these attacks. Are you willing to look at one picture in particular? It's an enlargement of the area around a tattoo located on the underside of his right wrist."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she seemed to be gathering her inner resources as she gave a faint nod of agreement. Seeing it, Fin slid the picture into place in front of her. It was several seconds before she was able to force her eyes open. The gasp that slipped from her lips was the only confirmation they needed that this was indeed her friend, but Fin still asked, "Is this Father Roberto's tattoo, Ms. Morgan?"

Another faint nod as her gaze locked in horror on the autopsy picture.

"You're sure?"

Another nod.

Munch gently interjected, "You said he was Panadoron?"

A whispered yes was his only reply.

Trading a look with Fin, Munch pressed, "Does he have family we need to notify?"

Both had to strain to hear her answer. "His children. His mother is still alive and so is one of his brothers… Tomas."

"What are his children's names?" Munch inquired, hoping to gently pull her focus back to them.

"Roberto, Miguel, and Mercedes," she offered, as tears began to course down her pale cheeks. "I should call…"

"It would be best if you let the Department handle that," Munch inserted. "You can call later. Do you know why Father Roberto was in New York?"

Sighing, she admitted, "I don't know all the details… he didn't want to upset me. He was always very protective and old-fashioned. There were some things he didn't think a lady should know, so… I wish he had told me more. Maybe it would help find his killers."

Dashing the tears from her cheeks, the two detectives watched as a wall descended over her emotions and a firm resolve settled onto her face. Squaring her shoulders, she began, "As I said, Roberto only became a priest a few years ago. Before that, he worked for the Panadoron government as an investigator. He spent most of the last twenty years tracking down those involved in the atrocities of the Zapatero regime. I have no doubt he made a lot of enemies during the course of his years on the police force."

"He was a cop?" Fin repeated, wanting to be sure of this point. Out of town or not, the NYPD looked after its own.

"Yes. He had planned to go to law school when he was younger, but ended up working for the reorganized state police after the revolution, tracking down those responsible for so many deaths," she responded.

"The Zapatero regime was one of the most brutal of the Caribbean dictatorships. You mentioned he had scars on his back and legs. Was he a political prisoner prior to the revolution that overthrew Zapatero?" Munch asked, mentally checking off a box next to the information from the ME's report about scars from an old injury on their victim's back and legs.

"At the end, yes. He was one of the last taken to Guarida del Diablo. He had been active in the revolution for several years and was freed from the prison when Zapatero fell," Emily offered. "His throat had been cut by the guards before they fled, but whoever did it botched the job. He was still alive when they found him, but he had a long recovery from his injuries and still walks with a limp. He is… was a national hero. His death will be a blow to many that love him."

"Guarida del Diablo?" Fin questioned.

"'Lair of the Devil'. That was the unofficial name given to the State Police Building in Santa Isabel during Zapatero's time. It had an extensive network of cells and interrogation rooms underneath. The whole complex was surrounded by a high stone wall and protected by a massive iron gate. It was said, if you were taken there, you were in the hands of the Devil and would never be seen again in this life. For four decades under Zapatero, that was fact not myth."

"What can you tell us about why he came to New York?" Fin asked. "You never said."

Sighing, she admitted, "Not as much as I would like to be able to tell you, but I can find out more if it would help. He had been asked by his former colleagues to assist them in tracking several members of a cell that is trying to undermine the democratically elected government and return Panador to the rule of a military dictatorship."

"What do you know about this cell?" Munch questioned, warning bells going off in his head that told him he was missing something important.

"Not much. He told me they think it has ties to the old families that used to run the island. Most of those that escaped the revolution live in exile and are enjoying the fortunes they amassed over the centuries." Frowning, she added, "Roberto implied that they think some of the sons of those families would like to regain their former position and power. At this point, he said they don't think they are much of a threat to the government, but he said they had begun to use violence to achieve their goals. He was tracking the ones linked to those crimes."

"Do you know what crimes specifically?" Munch asked, alert to the likelihood that there were other crimes they had yet to connect to the murders.

Sighing in frustration, she shook her head. "Sorry, no. Roberto refused to say more than that."

"So he was undercover?" Glancing over at his partner, Fin pressed, "Why not ask for help from the Feds or the NYPD? This seems like a lot more than a single priest could handle."

"The Panadoron community is still very suspicious of the American government, Detective. We were long-time supporters of the Zapatero regime. Even those that now live in America haven't forgotten… or forgiven," she replied. "Apparently, they thought Roberto's current status as a priest would call less attention to his inquires and might open doors a badge would not. Roberto was a hero to so many, I can understand their reasoning."

"As for their sending only a single priest, I very much doubt that is the case. He never said this directly… but I'm sure there are others here." Looking back and forth between the two policemen, she added, "They wouldn't have presented themselves at One Police Plaza and announced their intentions. They would have slipped in and tried to hide in plain sight. That's how they work. 9-11 hasn't changed some things as much as the media… the federal government would have us think."

Sitting a little straighter, Munch demanded, "Others? How many?"

"I have no idea, Detective. He never directly said there were others," she stressed. "That is merely an assumption on my part given my conversations with him and with a couple of mutual friends in Panador."

"So, the Feds don't know about their operation either?" Fin demanded.

"I sincerely doubt it, but I can's be sure one way or the other," she admitted. "I know for a fact that several of the fugitives Roberto and his colleagues captured and returned for trial in Panador were not formally extradited by the countries where they were living. In some cases, they had 'unofficial' help from the local authorities… in others they found their fugitive and took him back under the radar. They didn't want to risk money and politics getting in the way of their efforts. These men are my friends, but I have few illusions about their methods. Punishing Zapatero's supporters is an all consuming passion for some of them."

Raking her hand through her hair, she confessed, "I made a few calls last night. He was supposed to get in touch with me on Sunday. It's not like Roberto not to keep his promises. He would never have forgotten to call me if he could; he knew I was worried about him. No one had seen him at the rooming house for several days, so I was getting frantic. When I learned that no one in Panador had heard from him since Saturday morning either, I decided to come to the police this morning."

"What else did you contacts tell you?" Fin urged.

"Apparently, Roberto called to check in and update them on Saturday. He had found someone willing to talk to him and was going to meet her later that day, but Jesus… one of my contacts, wouldn't tell me more. They are worried, too." Dropping her head, she murmured, "I tried to get him to tell me everything… her name if he knew it, but he wouldn't. He may not have known it; Roberto may not have wanted to compromise her by saying her name over a phone. He called from the boarding house, but the phones could have been bugged if the men he was looking for were on to him."

"If you have contacts in Panador that can help us get to the bottom of these murders, then we need them now," a stern voice interjected from the doorway. "This is police business, Ms. Morgan, and we will handle it from here."

Looking up, the three found they had been joined by the 16th Precinct's commander and the rest of the senior detectives in their unit. Munch offered the introductions. "Ms. Morgan, this is Capt. Don Cragen and Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler."

Rising to shake their hands, she offered, "Capt. Cragen… Detectives, any information that I have is yours. I owe my life to Roberto Fonseca. I am also not naive enough to think that the other murders aren't related to his or that there won't be more if the killers aren't stopped."

Fixing Cragen with a steady gaze, she concluded, "I knew that when I came forward. What do you want to know?"

-----

A/N --- Panador and the Zapatero regime are both fictional. They are modeled after several of the brutal dictatorships that existed in Central American and the Caribbean in the mid/late twentieth century. The name is a blend of Panama and Ecuador, with a nod to the name of a fictional country in the movie _Moon over Parador_.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 3

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Ghosts, Chapter 3

"If you could give us a name within the Pandoron government that could provide us with further information about Father Roberto, that would be a good place to start. We'll also need his family's names so we can make the necessary contacts about his death," Cragen replied. "You have no idea as to the identities of the other Panadorons that might be in the City?"

Shaking her head, Emily Morgan offered, "No, but my contacts would… assuming they agree to share that information with you. I need to warn you. They may not be willing to talk to you or your detectives, Captain. Paranoia runs deep inside those circles… it's what kept them alive during Zapatero's reign of terror. The men that are investigating this cell are part of a small, closely-knit fraternity. They lost family to Zapatero… or spent time in Guarida del Diablo. Talking got people killed and they never got out of the habit of not trusting anyone they don't know."

Speaking from behind her, Fin observed, "Pardon me for saying this, but you don't seem to fit the fraternity profile. You're American, Caucasian, and female. Why do they trust you?"

A sad smile flittered over her features as she turned to face him. "Every fraternity has their 'little sister', Detective. I'm theirs. And, if I misled you into thinking they would tell me all they know, they won't. They'll tell me more than you, but nowhere near enough to answer all your questions. The best I may be able to offer is enough information to get you started in the right direction."

"That's not what I asked. If you're not going to answer our questions, Ms. Morgan, you're not any help," Fin pressed. "Why you?"

"Morgan is my maiden name, Detective. Most Panadorons know me as Emilia Molina," she replied, her voice soft and haunted.

Frowning, Cragen asked, "OK, so you don't use your husband's name. That's not particularly unusual. Who was he?"

"I haven't used his name since shortly after I returned to this country after his death. It came to a point where I needed to move on with my life and it was impossible if I used that name," she offered, obviously uncomfortable with their questions. "Esteban was a martyr of the revolution."

A look of sudden recognition settled on Munch's face as he spoke for the first time since the others arrived. "Emily Molina… of course. I'm sorry it took me so long to make the connection, Senõra Molina. I can see why using that name would have been difficult for you. It also explains why you command the respect of the men that investigated Zapatero's crimes; you paid your fraternity dues as much as they did. It's an honor to meet you."

Ignoring the amazed stares turned in Munch's direction by the other detectives, she tilted her head to study him. "I take it you remember my husband?"

"Yes, but I remember you better. I knew you looked familiar when you arrived, but… you've changed a lot since I last saw you. I helped organize a couple of rallies in Baltimore and DC to call attention to your imprisonment. I don't have many heroes, Senõra Molina, but you're one of mine," he admitted, reaching into his pocket to extract his wallet.

Sorting quickly through its contents, he pulled out a rumbled photograph. "I kept this picture… the one of you standing before the gates of the prison. I was there that day in the plaza… one of a number of Americans protesting your captivity, but clueless of what it really meant. Incongruous as it sounds, I was on my annual two-week vacation from work. I wasn't one for sipping mai tais on the beach. A noisy protest was more my thing."

Fixing his eyes on the woman, not the picture, he mused, "You could have slipped away quietly and not taken the risks you did. It was as true an act of courage as any I've ever witnessed. It gave an entire nation hope… the tangible proof that Zapatero could be brought down. What you did that day lit a fire that ultimately toppled a brutal dictator and freed a nation."

The utter silence in the room stretched for several minutes, long past the point of becoming uncomfortable. Emily Molina stood staring at Munch, oblivious to the hand he had extended to offer her the photograph. Intrigued, Fin reached over to take it so that he could study the image.

Surprised, he looked up at the woman before them murmuring, "This was you? I remember now. I signed a petition or something demanding your release. Damn, Munch is right. You are a hero."

"Thank you both for your support; you helped save my life and I'm grateful. But don't make the mistake of thinking me a hero, Detective Tutuola. I'm a far from that as it gets. My husband, Roberto, and others like them were heroes, not me," she insisted, as she turned to walk to the window.

"Do you really believe what you did wasn't heroic?" Munch asked, bothered by her haunted expression. This woman had always fascinated him. That day in the plaza outside the prison had changed his life forever and it seemed wrong to hear her dismiss her actions as insignificant.

Wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a sudden chill, she nodded in response to his question. "I've often thought I would have served the Panadoron people better if I had stayed where I was and let them smuggle me out unseen. That picture ended up on the fronts of countless posters and t-shirts… t-shirts worn by teenage boys and girls that died because of me. Throw it away, Detective. It's another false idol created by our mass-media society."

Forgetting the others were listening… avidly watching, Munch walked over to stand beside her at the window. "Forgive me if I continue to think otherwise. Those people fought for a reason… to overthrow a brutal and oppression dictator. Until they saw you walk out of that prison alive, they had no hope that it was possible. In the past, anyone that dared to make a public statement of opposition would have died… everybody in the area would have been gunned down and the incident blamed on 'leftist guerrillas'. You had to know you were likely to die for what you were did, but you did it anyway because it had to be done. That's heroic in my book."

"It's a miracle that I didn't get us all killed for that 'statement', Detective. If the press hadn't been there, that is exactly what would have happened," she murmured. "If you were there that day, it was your life I gambled with as much as mine. I didn't have that right."

Dipping his head to study her over the top of his glasses, he argued. "Yeah, you did. I knew what might happen… all of us there did. Zapatero's tactics were well known, so I went there knowing I might get killed for 'inciting unrest'. A number of American activists died before and after that day, but your act gave people hope… an image of you walking out of that hell… 'La Ángel de la Puertas', the Angel of the Gates they called you."

Bending to offer his last thought for her ears only, he added, "The devil let one of his victims go that day and I've always thought the woman in that picture was pretty remarkable. It is an honor to meet you."

"And what about all those young people that died because of that picture?" she whispered. "What about all those that ended up in that same hell after the TV cameras left because they saw me walk out and thought they would too? How would you feel if it was your face that was soaked in their blood? I see their faces in so many pictures, my own mocking me from their lifeless corpses."

Turning his head to gaze unseeing out the window, he admitted, "Haunted… guilty, but I think I would also respect their choice… the sacrifice they made. They died to make their country a better place. Regardless of whose face adorned their t-shirt, they made that choice, not you. They were heroes too; don't take that away from them by robbing their choice of dignity. Look at those pictures again, but this time, see them, not your guilt."

It was several minutes before she lifted her head to study his profile. "Interesting perspective, Detective Munch. I'll… give that a try later. Thank you. For now…"

Turning to catch her gaze, he agreed. "Yeah, new battles to fight. Can you give me the name of the person I need to call in Panador that might give us that starting information? It may be that we have more than one of their men in our morgue."

"Sadly, you are probably right… that or they are retribution killings of Panadoron's living in New York," she murmured.

"If that is the case, we need to know that too. I would guess you are near the top of the list of people the Zapatero supporters would like to see punished," Munch observed. "Do you have reason to suspect you are in danger, Ms. Molina… Morgan? You said you were worried when you did not hear from Father Roberto. Was that worry for him alone or do you think you might be a target of this cell?"

Sighing, Emily leaned wearily against the window. "Just Emily will be fine, Detective. As for the rest, I don't know. Roberto urged me to be careful and not go anywhere alone, but…"

"You came here alone? And please call me John. My partner prefers Fin."

Nodding, she reached up to massage her temples. "I've had to live with the reality that there are people that want me dead for a long time now. I resolved a long time ago not to spend the rest of my life in hiding. I got to second chance to live, but a lot of people didn't. I won't insult their memory by refusing to live my life… by letting those that looked the other way, if not actively sanctioned their murders, rob me of my freedom again."

"An admirable if impractical attitude, Emily," John observed. "Who are you helping by making yourself an easy target? Your death won't bring them back or change what happened."

"Believe me I know that, Det… John. It took me years to get to the point where I could go out by myself again and not be in a constant state of panic… not want to scream at the bumps in the night or go into hysterics when I see a rat… smell blood… want to run if a stranger gets too close." Closing her eyes, she admitted, "I still can't go to bed at night without going from room to room, checking the windows and doors… looking in closets, behind things over and over again. I have no desire to die or to be tortured again. If it makes it easier, I promise to take every precaution I can imagine and any you suggest. OK?"

Munch stood for a moment watching her. "For now. I believe you were going to give us a name to call in Panador."

-----

George Huang took a deep breath. Instinct told him this woman would be the key to finding the killers that had claimed three victims on their watch. As a forensic psychiatrist, he was trained to offer insight into the workings of the human mind, especially the minds of killers. He had read a great deal about the men that became interrogators, torturers, and, more often than not, executioners for regimes like the one that had held the tiny Caribbean island of Panador in its grips for over forty years.

Emily Morgan Molina had been a witness to those very practices, a victim of their brutality, and had lived to tell about her experiences. Once Munch and Tutuola finished talking to her, Huang knew he would need to spend time with her. Her tragedy was his starting place as much as it was the detectives.

"Interesting development."

Glancing over at the young woman watching the scene in the interrogation room with him, he nodded. Noting the focus of her attention, Huang knew the time was fast approaching when he would need to confront her about her barely disguised feelings. She needed his help even if she didn't yet know it.

With all that they faced at the moment, he had been hoping he could put that confrontation off a little longer. While part of his job was to keep an eye on the dedicated professionals that devoted so much of their life to this often grisly work, these people were also his friends. He didn't want to see any of them hurt if he could help it.

Suppressing a sigh, he observed, "I have a feeling this case will take us places none of us expected to go."

Casey Novak took a deep breath before replying. "I could say that about most of our cases, George."

-----


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 4

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Ghosts, Chapter 4

"Senõr Jesus Reyes will be joining us tomorrow. Apparently, the Panadoron government would prefer to have one of their own identify the bodies and decide what we need to know after that."

Cragen looked up as Munch and Tutuola entered his office. "So, I can take it you had no luck getting any information out of them?"

Shaking his head in frustration, Munch dropped into a chair across the desk from his captain. "I have no doubt he got a lot more out of me than I did out of him. Emily was not exaggerating when she said they wouldn't tell us much. He avoided answering all of my questions by saying we would talk further once he gets here."

"His reaction is at least partial conformation of Emily's story… still I wish he had been more forthcoming. We need to find out more about our victim and see where that leads us," Cragen ordered.

"While John was on the phone with Reyes, I began to pull together what I could find on Fonseca," Fin reported. "Fair amount out there. As Emily said, he worked for the Panadoron government from 1986 to 1999, when he left to become a priest. He's credited with snagging quite a few high profile members of the Zapatero regime… including the former head of the State Police, Juan Molina. Molina was executed in '96 for crimes against the state. His younger brother was Esteban Molina, Emily's husband."

"Her husband? If his brother held that kind of position, then she married into one of the families that ran Panador before the revolution," Cragen observed. "Why didn't she mention that?"

"I have a bigger question," Fin inserted. "How did she become friends with one of her own jailers? Fonseca worked as a prison guard from '79 to '82 at the main facility in Santa Isabel. Both Esteban and Emily Molina was held there during that time."

"Let me get this straight… he went from prison guard to revolutionary to cop to priest?" Cragen demanded. "Am I getting this right?"

"From what I could find, yeah… that's the timeline," Fin confirmed. "Quite a history."

"So, Ms. Morgan has potentially two reasons to want him dead. He is responsible for her brother-in-law's capture and she was once his prisoner," Stabler observed from the doorway. "If he spent the last twenty years playing the hero revolutionary, the news he was once a guard may have made her snap and kill him and his buddies."

"Not likely," Munch insisted. "You saw the last two crime scenes. She couldn't have staged them."

"You saying a woman couldn't do something like that? I would have thought you had been doing this long enough to know there are some women capable of being just as sick and twisted as some men," Stabler retorted. "I always wondered if you would be one to become distracted by a pretty face and start thinking with your dick, not your brain."

"A beautiful face… but I was using the head on my shoulders to make that assessment. You might want to give that a try yourself," Munch bit out, irritated by Stabler's condescending attitude.

"I'm not the one ready to dismiss her as a suspect. You are," Stabler growled.

Giving his fellow detective his patented sneer, Munch began to lecture in a tone he knew would crawl under Stabler's skin. "One, we know the perps are male given the rapes. Two, the way the vics were trussed took strength she doesn't have given permanent damage to her back that resulted from injures she received during her imprisonment. You had to notice the stiff way she moves. They broke her back and it set badly. She didn't get treatment until she got to the US months later and then it was too late to repair some of the damage. Three, she came to us. We would still be floundering around without any clues if she hadn't come forward."

"How do you know about her back?" Cragen demanded. "I'm not sparing with you, John. None of us have missed the way you're looking at this lady. Can you be objective about what she has to say or do I need to pull you out and let Olivia handle her interview?"

"She's talking to John, Cap. He obviously already knows a lot about her and that has got to help," Fin interjected, equally irritated with Elliot's attitude and with the reaction it had produced in his captain.

"Yeah, Fin… but I want to hear it from John. Can you maintain sufficient detachment to handle her interview?" Cragen insisted, his eyes fixed on his detective.

"Yeah, I can. It seems Fin is the only one that has any confidence in that though," he replied, his irritation evident.

Turning his glare in Stabler's direction he added, "As for the fact that her brother-in-law was executed, I should point out that he was the head of the State Police… I believe Fin said that. Juan Molina was the one that gave the order to arrest his own brother, oversaw his 'interrogation', and was there when he died during one of those sessions."

Shifting his glare back to Cragen, he continued. "He is also the one that had Emily taken. She was five months pregnant. He apparently didn't approve of his brother's choice in brides… didn't want her having a Molina heir, so he gave her an 'abortion' with a baseball bat while she was tied to a chair in his office. He hit her so hard he broke her back… the injury I mentioned."

Frowning, he concluded, "It was only due to a standing order from Zapatero himself not to let her die that doctors were called and she received even the minimal medical care she did. She nearly hemorrhaged to death on the floor while they performed a crude c-section to remove her dead baby girl from her womb. Luckily, she was unconscious from the beating and missed the fun of surgery without anesthesia. I somehow doubt she has been living to avenge Juan Molina's death."

"How do you know all of this?" Fin asked, clearly aware of the simmering anger lighting his partner's eyes. Stabler had been pushing both their buttons ever since this case fell into their laps. He had made it clear he thought he should be lead, even though that wasn't how things worked in their unit. The pair that responded first was lead. "I know you said you were in Panador the day she was released, but…"

Glancing over at his partner, his glare relented. "Her step-daughter wrote a book about her father and Emily's imprisonment. Gritty stuff. You might want to read it. You'll understand why I hold that lady in such high regard, but I'm not blind to the fact that she has a lot to tell us, starting with this issue of Fonseca being a guard while she was in prison."

"Then, get in there and get us something that might help us find these killers before they strike again," Cragen instructed, still uncomfortable with the situation.

-----

"How did you meet Father Fonseca?"

Turning from her study of the street running in front of the stationhouse, Emily sighed. "I take it I was right… Jesus wouldn't tell you anything."

Moving back into the room, Munch admitted, "Not much. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a soft drink?"

"Translation, I will be here a while and might get thirsty once we start the interrogation," she replied, watching him with weary curiosity. "A cup of coffee would be great."

Dropping his head to look at her over the top of his glasses, he countered, "No interrogation is in the offing, Emily, but I do have more questions. Det. Reyes won't arrive until tomorrow and anything you can tell us that might get us ahead of the game would be welcome. How do you take your coffee?"

"My preference is for a tall Brevé, but I'll settle for extra cream… or creamer." Moving slowly in his direction, she asked, "If you show me the way…"

Holding the door for her, he smiled. "Fin has a weakness for half-and-half. If you ask nicely, he may be willing to share his stash. Since I saw him hitting a box of Krispy Kremes while I was on the phone, you might have some luck. He's a much easier mark when he's on a sugar high."

"Aren't we all? Krispy Kremes have been a weakness of mine since my childhood," she confessed. "They had a regional bakery in Greenville, a small city near where I grew up. Whenever we went there, we would stop and buy two dozen to take home… one glazed and one jelly. They were still warm from the oven and Momma would let us each have one for the ride home. She would have to hide the boxes to keep us out of them until breakfast the next morning. I can still smell the bakery and see my younger brother with jelly all over his face."

"Then you, Fin, and the Captain should get along great. They share your addiction. I'm made of stronger stuff. Please ignore any rumors to the contrary." His teasing earned him a small smile.

Pulling open the door to the refrigerator, Munch reached in to grab the creamer. "You're in luck. He just bought a new carton. Was it just the two children in your family?"

Her smile grew a little stronger, easing some of the tension around her eyes and mouth. "I'm a classic middle child, John… one of four. I have an older brother and sister in addition to my younger brother."

"You sound like you had a happy childhood," he observed, touched by the small signs of happiness the memories brought to her.

Pouring her coffee, she looked up to see if he wanted a refill. Seeing his nod, she accepted his mug and filled it almost to the top, noting he also used creamer. "I did. In retrospect, it seems almost like something out of Hollywood… too good to be true. It wasn't perfect… or maybe it was as perfect as families get. My parents loved each other and are still happily married after fifty plus years. They loved their children and took care of us… nurtured and encouraged us. We lived in a comfortable house in an average town and had our extended family nearby. The older I get, the more I realize how good those years were. I had it a lot easier than most and I do appreciate that time more than I can say. I sometimes think…"

Handing her the half-and-half after stealing a splash for his own cup, he prodded, "Think what?"

Staring into her mug as the creamer blended to mellow the dark brew, Emily shook her head. "Not the time or place for me to indulge in self-pity, John. Life happens and you adapt."

Sighing, he took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. "Sadly, I have to agree. Would you like a donut before we get started?"

"Thanks, but no. I think I'll keep my Krispy Kreme memories as they are and not co-mingle them with memories of my murdered friend." Frowning as she took a sip of her own coffee, she poured a more generous amount of the half-and-half into the cup. "God, that's awful!"

Grinning, Munch teased, "How do you think we get people to talk?"

Grimacing to find the creamer had done little to help the taste, she muttered, "Torture by any other name…"

At that, Munch laughed outright. Motioning for her to precede him back to the interrogation room, he admitted, "I think it's the pot. I've tired different types of coffee and even bottled water. Nothing seems to help."

"So you're responsible for this!"

"Not today. I think this nasty stuff can be blamed on Olivia, though it tastes about the same regardless of which of us makes it." Pushing open the door, he concluded, "It has to be the pot."

"Maybe detectives just make lousy coffee."

"Hummm… another possibility. Fin, you joining us?"

-----

"You sure about this, Captain? I've never seen John react like this before."

Frowning at the brawny detective, Cragen pointed out, "Fin's in there too and he's right. John knows more about this lady than the rest of us. They have obviously established some connection and that might help us get the information we need. I'll keep an eye on whatever this is between them and make sure that it doesn't get too personal… for now anyway, but John and Fin are lead on this case. See what you can find out about Emily Morgan Molina in the meantime."

-----


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 5

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. John/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Feedback appreciated!!!

Ghosts, Chapter 5

"So… back to my question. How did you meet Father Roberto?"

Looking up to meet his gaze, a faint sad smile slipped onto her lips. "I had just gotten home from work. It was in May 1987. The children… I adopted Esteban's children from his first marriage, were in the kitchen making supper… doing homework and I was folding laundry in my bedroom. Odd I should remember those trivial details."

Taking a sip of her coffee, she continued. "In any case, I went to answer the door and found this very large man waiting on the other side of the screen door. I have to admit my first impulse was to bolt the door… scream for help out of fear he was there to hurt me or the children. I had gotten several death threats since I had gotten back to the US. He must have seen the terror in my eyes because he said the strangest thing… Romans 8-26. I froze and stared at him for the longest time."

"Romans 8-26? Why a Bible quote?" Fin asked.

"That was the point… it was a reference only one other person was likely to know was special to me." Meeting Tutuola's intense gaze, she offered, "My captivity in Panador went through several stages, Fin. One of them… they left me completely alone. My cell was a small square with stone walls and a solid wooden door. The only light came from a small, barred window at the top of one wall, perhaps fourteen feet over my head. I had a cot, a threadbare blanket, and a… bucket. That was it."

"For several months, I saw no one, spoke to no one… had no human contact except for the guard that brought me my daily meal, but I never actually saw him. Every day, a small slot at the bottom of the door would open and my tray would be shoved inside along with a mug of water. Beyond that, I was left completely alone." A racking shudder shivered through her body as she struggled to contain the memories that threatened to swamp her.

Closing her eyes, she murmured, "I took to talking to myself out loud. I would pretend to have long conversations with family and friends, recite poems or scenes from movies and plays… pray out loud. I composed poems and stories… sang… anything to keep myself occupied and muffle the screams that echoed through the prison and keep the rats that shared my cell away from me."

"After a month or so… I lost track of time, I became obsessed with the guard that brought my meal," she remembered. "I would sit by the door and try to get a glimpse of his hands. I was becoming desperate to have contact with another human being. I would try to talk to him, but he always ignored my attempts, just shoved the tray inside and was gone."

"One day, I was talking to myself… praying actually. I remember saying something like, 'God have you forgotten me? Do you still hear me?'. I suddenly became aware of the fact that the slot had opened while I was talking, but the tray hadn't appeared yet. It finally occurred to me that he was listening to me, so when the tray began to slide in, I reached through the slot and grabbed his hands. He started to pull away… then, he hesitated for a second before giving them a tight squeeze," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"The next day, I was kneeling by the door waiting when he arrived. To my great joy, his hands ventured into the cell a few inches and I took them. When he pulled away, I found he had pressed a small slip of paper into the palm of my hand." Reaching up to dash the tears that had started to flow down her cheeks away, she took a steadying breath before she continued. "It was too dark to read it, so I spent most of the night carefully opening the tightly folded slip… spreading it out over my knee, oh so carefully. Then, I sat under the window in the dark waiting for the sun to rise so I could read it. For the first time in… since they day they took me there, I had a reason to look forward to the next day."

"What did it say?"

Looking over to meet Munch's enthralled gaze, she whispered, "'God hears you and so do I'. It was followed by that reference… Romans 8-26."

"And… what does Romans 8-26 say?" Fin asked, his voice low and thick. "I don't know that quote."

A shaky laugh preceded, "Neither did I. It was one of the first things I asked my Mom to look up for me when I got to the hospital in Miami. '_Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we know not how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words._'"

Into the silence that followed, she softy continued. "Over the next few weeks, he passed me a few more slips of paper… news from the outside, things to give me hope… that sort of thing. Then one day, he stuffed this small camera inside the cell with a note urging me to not give up hope… instructing me to take several pictures of myself saving the flash for the last shot. I did; that was the last time he came. I didn't know until much later that he took the camera to an American journalist before disappearing into the jungles with his family to join the revolution. He knew they would know he had taken the pictures of me and he had to get his family to safety before they were published."

"So, five years later, there I stood staring at this man at my door. I had never seen him face to face, so how to know if it was really him?" Fresh tears streamed down her face as she concluded, "Then I remembered. I asked to see his right wrist… the luna moth tattoo."

Holding John's fixed gaze, she whispered, "He saved my life with those pictures; it provided incontrovertible proof they still held me and that I was still alive, but… he saved me as surely with those notes… those precious moments when he held my hands. He brought God… my friends and family… hope back to me. He reminded me that there were still descent people out there. He saved me and… I failed him. He died alone… a horrible death and… I wasn't there to hold his hands and comfort him. Oh God, forgive me!!!"

Fin sat quietly as he watched his partner move around the table to pull the sobbing woman into a comforting embrace. She had held her grief at bay for a long as she could. The grim reality of her friend's death now demanded it's due. Strong as she obviously was, no spirit could withstand the blows life had dealt her. Tears were all she had left.

In a strange way, listening to this woman's story had made the suffering of their victims seem more real that even the horror of the crime scenes had done…. her simple lament that she hadn't been there to hold his hand and comfort him at his death all too real. The full weight of the crimes committed against the three men came home to him as it never had before.

Reaching over to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, he promised, "We will find the men that killed him, Emily. They will be punished for what they did."

Muffled against Munch's chest, he had to lean forward to hear her whisper. "Just stop them from killing anyone else, Fin. I just want it to end and the people I care about to be safe again."

-----

Cragen turned to look at the others watching the interview from the adjacent room. "Still think she's involved, Elliot?"

"No… but I am still worried John isn't thinking as clearly as he needs to now that this woman has entered the picture." Looking back into the room, he noted, "This is not his normal style."

"No… it's not. So, George… should I be concerned?"

The door to the interview room opened as his question still hung in the air. "Why, 'cos Elliot is jones'ing to take over our case and is looking for any excuse to question our handling of this interview?"

"I am not…" Stabler responded, angered by Tutuola's assertion.

"Now is not the time for this guys, but I can't say I'm surprised by Fin's comment, Elliot," Olivia Benson inserted. "This is not our case, partner. We are supporting cast here. Comments about John's objectivity aren't helping. He's earned the right to expect our support. He and Fin are damn fine cops and you know it."

"Yeah, I know," Stabler offered, rubbing his neck in hopes of easing the tense muscles. "This case is frustrating us all. Sorry Fin. You know I respect you and John."

Nodding, Huang agreed. "I see no reason for concern at this point. Ms. Morgan is not a suspect. Given her history, I can only imagine that coming to a police station… even one in the US, must be very difficult… frightening. The affinity she and John are displaying is likely a good thing for her and the investigation."

"OK, I'll leave it for now. Casey… we may need help cutting through the red-tape if our counterparts in Panador continue to stonewall us," Cragen began. "Can you ask the DA to contact the State Department? If they know anything, it would be nice to have access to it. Casey?"

Startled from her study of the pair inside the interrogation room, the ADA turned to face Cragen, a forced smile failing to brighten her face. "Sure Don. I'll take care of it. Keep me posted. Would it help if I dropped by tomorrow to talk to Reyes?"

"Yeah, it might. I'll give you a call when he arrives." Looking over at Tutuola, he asked, "Did John say when we can expect him to arrive?"

Still glaring at Elliot, Fin shook his head. "Naw… Reyes is supposed to let us know when he can arrange a flight so we can have him met at the airport. We'll let you know once we hear."

A quick glance into the interrogation room alerted him that Emily was beginning to regain her composure. "Fin… it looks like she is getting herself under control. You and John concentrate on getting what you can out of her. We need to know anything she can tell us about Fonseca's trip to New York. It may be sketchy but it's all we have until tomorrow. Let George know if you need help keeping her focused. She's emotional and it's obvious she still carries around a lot of baggage from her ordeal."

"We'll get what we can," Tutuola promised.

"While you're doing that, I'll see if I can locate several officers of Panadoron ancestry to help with interviews in Pandoron enclaves. Someone with ties to that community might stand a better chance of getting people to talk." Frowning he noted, "If these murders are tied to the Zapatero regime, then its likely rumors are flying in the Panadoron neighborhoods. We need to know what they know… or suspect. I'll have them report directly to you. I'd like to have them start canvassing the neighborhoods today, so we need to get this organized ASAP."

"I'll get them going, Cap," Fin agreed, finally looking his way. "Mike Sandoval in Narcotics has Panadoron blood. He'd be a real asset to us."

"I'll make the request," Cragen replied. "Olivia, give our colleagues over at the FBI a call. See if anyone will talk to you about this Panadoron cell. If they have anything, get with George and start developing a profile. One PP is sending us additional detectives from other divisions, so we will have help with the legwork and with the research into similar cases. John and Fin need to be free to pursue leads for now, not get bogged down in research."

Breaking in, Fin suggested, "We might want to concentrate on cities with other large Panadoron communities for now. Emily mentioned there had been other crimes that the Panadorons already know about."

"Good point. See if she can tell us anything more specific," Cragen instructed. "Liv, see what you can track down."

"Elliot, get down to the ME's and press her to see if she can find anything about our other vics that even hints they may be from Panador. The second one had a pacemaker. I know Dr. Warner was having trouble tracing it. See if it can be linked to Panador. A serial number would be great," he ordered. "We need that to find out their names and we now have a starting point, so get on it. Also, see if you can find out when Father Roberto arrived. He may not have come alone."

"I'll give my contacts in the Church a call. Maybe they will have access to some information that might help us," Cragen concluded, signaling the rest to return to work.

Huang hesitated a moment before following Casey Novak out the door. Catching up with her at the elevators, he asked, "Want to talk about it?"

Face sat in an emotionless mask, the attorney responded, "Talk about what, George?"

"John Munch."

-----


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 6

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. John/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Ghosts, Chapter 6

Relieved to find the outer observation area empty, Munch escorted Emily back into the squadroom, sheltering her as much as he could from the curious stares. "The lady's room is on your right just past the stairs to the loft. I'll grab us a couple of bottles of water and wait for you at my desk. OK?"

Nodding silently, she quickly disappeared into the privacy of the restroom. Taking a deep breath, Munch started toward the break room, but changed his course to enter the men's room. Walking to the sinks, he opened the tap for the cold water and let it flow. Setting his glasses to one side, he splashed several handfuls of the water onto his face.

Reaching blindly for a handful of paper towels, he felt several being stuffed into his reaching hand. "Thanks."

Looking to his left as he dried his face, he met his partner's steady gaze. After a few seconds, Tutuola asked, "You OK, man?"

"You doubting me too?"

Rolling his eyes, Fin leaned his hip against a sink. "No… not until you give me reason. I was asking how you're holding up."

"I'm fine." Tossing the damp towels into the trash, Munch asked, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Frowning at his partner's attempt to ignore the obvious, the younger man noted, "Let's see… I know you haven't been sleeping. You've been living on coffee for days… weeks. You spent the morning comforting a lady that has been to hell and isn't completely back even after all these years. We both know she's connecting to you. You're going to be the one to help her help us. Getting the information we need from her in her current state is going to be rough going… so I'm asking… you OK, man?"

Sighing, Munch leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes. "I was hoping the cold water would get some of the grit out of my eyes. This morning has been rough, but I'm fine, Fin. I suspect we will be getting a steady diet of short, simple answers for the rest of the day. She's drained and only wants to get this over with."

Shaking his head, Fin countered, "Yeah, she is drained. That means you're going to have to coax it out of her and keep her focused. The lady is still bleeding from wounds over twenty years old. You can't save her, John. Get too close and you'll end up getting hurt again. That's my say. End of topic. You ready to get back to it?"

Irritated, Munch demanded, "You do think I can't handle this. Yeah, she's beautiful, but…"

"You're had beautiful, John. She's also smart, brave, and loyal. From what you've said about your ex's, those traits were in short supply. Add to that, for all she's been through, she still has an innocence about her that gets you. Hard not to respond; it's very appealing… and yeah, I noticed," Fin inserted. "On top of that, she is someone you admit you admire… she may be in danger and need protection. I have no doubts about your ability to do your job. I'm worried about you… the man, once this case is over and you've fallen for her."

"I am not…"

"Save it, Munch. We all see it. You're already half in love with her and you've only known her for two hours." Moving off toward the door, Fin exited saying, "Just be careful is all I'm saying… and don't forget your glasses. We don't have time to take you to the ER 'cos you tripped and broke your ankle again."

Fin grinned as he heard the sputtering behind him. He loved to torment his partner with the actual reason for his broken ankle a few years back… a reason he alone knew. /He milked that injury to death! He deserves a little pay back./

-----

"What do we have to discuss about John Munch?" Casey demanded, hoping her slight blush had gone unnoticed by the psychiatrist.

It hadn't. "Be careful. You've hesitated about approaching him for over a year. Don't rush it until you're very sure of your feelings. You could both be hurt… and undermine the entire unit in the process."

"Doctor, I don't know what it is you think you know, but I resent your insinuations! If I need your advice, I'll ask. I haven't so, butt out!" she bit out, angry and embarrassed by his comments.

Huang studied her set face for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough. I like both you and John. I don't want to see either of you get hurt. If I overstepped, I apologize."

"Yeah, you did!" Turning, Casey pushed the call button for the elevator with uncharacteristic force.

"Can I buy lunch as a peace-offering?"

Startled, she looked back over her shoulder at the pleasantly smiling man. "Not necessary. I'll get over it."

"OK, but there's a raincheck out there is you change your mind." Following her onto the elevator, he changed the topic. "I think I'll make a run to the branch library a few blocks over and see if they have the book John mentioned to Cragen. It might help me get inside the heads of the killers. If they are using Zapatero's police as their inspiration, I may learn something from that account."

Studying the floor at her feet, Casey asked, "What did she do that so impressed the others… John in particular? If it happened in the 80's, I was too young to have been paying any attention to politics."

"I was in med school, so I was oblivious to everything but my studies. I'd like to know too; that's part of the reason I want to read the book." Tilting his head to catch her eye, he offered, "I could change my offer for lunch to a drink after work. Care to join me at that little bar the ADA's seem to prefer across from the courthouse and I'll let you know what I found out?"

"OK… but I'm not talking about John Munch."

Huang nodded, the same pleasant smile masking his real thoughts. "Fine. How's 6:30?"

-----

"Captain… the FBI is sending over a couple of their agents to 'assist' us. They tried to be cool, but it was pretty clear they want in on our investigation," Olivia reported from the doorway of Cragen's office.

Leaning back in his chair, Cragen looked up to meet her eyes. "If they can bring something to the party, we'll have to put up with them. If they just want to ride along and look over our shoulders, I'll cut them off. When are they coming?"

"They'll be here in a few hours… sometime after lunch."

"Damn! They are hot for this one," Cragen muttered. "Who'd you talk to?"

Flipping through her notes, Olivia replied, "Special Agent Aaron Dixon. He's the one coming along with his partner, Special Agent Anna Garza."

"Let me know when they get here. I want to talk to them before they meet with John and Fin. I want to set the ground-rules." Motioning to the door, he instructed. "Push the door shut."

"What's up?" she asked, dropping into the chair across from him.

"You tell me. What's with Elliott? Fin was right; he was trying to get me to take the case from them and give it to you two. I missed that and almost made a blunder that could have undermined the unit and this investigation. I plan to say as much to John and Fin when things settle down for the day." Lacing his fingers behind his head, he pressed, "Have things gotten this tense between them before today?"

"You know how they are, Don. Fin and Elliot are too much alike for there not to be periodic ego clashes. They both want to be the alpha dog of this pack. John is just as bad; he just expresses it differently," she hedged, uncomfortable with talking about her friends and co-workers behind their backs. "The three of them have always had their run-ins."

"That's not what I asked, Liv. Talk to me. I don't want to know so I can call them on the carpet." Sighing, he dropped his hands back to the desk. "If there is a problem, I need to know about it before it undermines this unit. Do I need to remind them I'm the Alpha?"

"Only if I get to be there to watch!!!" she replied, laughing aloud at the likely reactions from the three men in question.

Still smirking, she suggested, "If you want my opinion, let John and Fin handle Elliot for now. Elliot dropped his head… admitted he was out of line and Fin knows that. He'll let John know. The three of them will sniff around each other for a few days, hair on the back of their necks brisling, a few token growls, then the job will claim their attention and things will settle down again. I've seen this before and that's the pattern."

"So have I, Liv, but it seems these snarling matches have been happening more frequently since Elliot and Kathy busted up. That shook his world to its foundation… failure and a possible divorce aren't part of the Elliot Stabler playbook," Cragen noted.

"And that is the reason he needs to feel in control right now… prove himself again to himself if nobody else. Fin and John know this and are cutting him some slack where they can." Sighing, she admitted, "The three of us have had several talks over a few beers after work and we are watching him. He'll start to settle down soon… honestly, Cap."

"Next time you have one of those talks, include me. I can't afford to be out of the loop on this one. Elliot is a great cop and a friend, but he may need help none of us can give him," Cragen insisted.

"OK, we'll let you know." Forcing a smile to her face, she added, "I love those guys like my own brothers. I always wished I had one when I was growing up. I never realized how much work there is in keeping them in line!"

Fixing her with a penetrating stare, Cragen saw his opening and took it. "I have no doubt that both Fin and John see you in a sisterly way and love you accordingly, but is there really a brother/sister love going on between you and Elliot?"

Cragen watched the smile fade from her beautiful face. "Seems we have more than just Elliot's state of mind to discuss."

-----

John studied the exhausted droop of the woman sitting across from him. Trading a look with his partner, he suggested, "Why don't we take a short break and grab some lunch? It's after 2 and I haven't eaten today. I know it would help me focus. We could order something for delivery."

Nodding, Fin rose to go to the door. "Better for us to get out of here for an hour and regroup. Why don't you and Emily get ready and I'll go brief the Captain on what we've discussed? There are several leads we need to get someone going after."

"Good idea. Emily, what are you in the mood for?" John asked, watching her get listlessly to her feet.

"I'm not really hungry…" she began.

"No, you're exhausted and need to eat something. There's a deli down the street that serves pretty good sandwiches and soups. How's that?" he insisted.

Sighing, she nodded. "Maybe a bowl of soup. Might help warm me up a bit."

"Warm you up? Its over 90 degrees today!" he observed, holding the door for her to pass. Smiling in hopes of soothing her fractured emotions, he proposed, "A bowl of soup, a little sunshine and fresh air, and the company of two charming men should do the trick. We can discuss music and books… movies… you name it."

A soft, sweet smile brightened her features. "Sounds like a plan. Why don't I go freshen up and let you join Fin in briefing your Captain."

"Give us ten minutes and we will get going."

-----

"OK, good work guys. Liv, concentrate on Miami for now. If Father Roberto went there before coming to New York, there may be open cases that connect to our murders," Cragen instructed. "Mike Sandoval will be here around 4 to join our task force. He has family in some of the neighborhoods. There are a dozen uniforms coming as well. Fin, get them organized and out in the field while John follows up on making the contacts with the names Emily has given you two."

Turning to John, he asked, "Can Emily tell us much more?"

"Hard to say," he admitted. "Just when I think we've gotten all she can offer, she remembers someone or a place… something Fonseca said. She's exhausted and emotional, so it comes in fits and starts."

Seeing Fin nod out of the corner of his eye, Cragen suggested, "Does her step-daughter… the one that wrote the book you mentioned, live in New York? Maybe she can help."

"Dr. Marta Molina Douglas lives in Charleston, SC. She's a pediatric surgeon and teaches at the Medical University of SC," John replied. "I'll give her a call when we get back from lunch. Her stepson Paul works for the Llewellyn Foundation as a human rights attorney. His office is here in the City, but he's out of town right now."

"The Llewellyn Foundation? What's their link to Emily?" Olivia asked, interested to know if there was a connection to the influential human rights group.

"David and Pamela Llewellyn were instrumental in organizing the public outcry here and in Europe that helped focus attention to Emily's imprisonment. David Llewellyn was there with her father the day she was released," John offered. "Apparently, the Llewellyns took her under their wing and helped her get the support she needed to reconnect to life after her ordeal. They remained close to her over the years. When Paul graduated from Yale, he went to work for them."

"Isn't there a third child?" Olivia asked.

Frowning slightly, Fin answered, "Actually, Molina had three other children. His twin sons… they were nine at the time, were killed in the car wreck that took the life of his first wife, Louisa. The wreck was suspicious… Louisa was an artist and some of her work put the Zapatero regime in a bad light. Most of her immediate family had moved abroad and were opposed to the regime. It was rumored the wreck was staged so they could get rid of her; the boys were collateral deaths... she decided to take them with her at the last minute when she went out to run an errand. Most people think that's what made Esteban became a revolutionary."

"Good reason," Elliot acknowledged. "What about the last child?"

"That would be Isabella, also the youngest," Fin replied. "She was a toddler when Emily married her Dad. She's a PhD candidate in biochemistry at Stanford. Emily did well by his kids… got them first-rate educations… Duke, Yale, Stanford, and they seem to be close to her."

Frowning, Cragen asked, "How did she pay for it? None of those places are cheap. Does she have access to family money?"

Shaking his head, Munch admitted, "Can't say. The Molinas were one of the wealthiest families on the island, so she might. Want us to ask?"

"No, not at this point. No reason for us to know, so it is an unfair invasion of her privacy." Cragen was silent for a moment before concluding, "When you get back, give her stepchildren a call. Marta Douglas and Paul Molina in particular may have information that Emily would not. They are blood members of the old power structure and they are old enough to know the sons of the families that are behind this cell."

-----


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 7

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. John/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Ghosts, Chapter 7

"I'm going to need to call Father Roberto's children this afternoon, Emily. I also plan to talk to your step-children," John warned as they approached the entrance to the precinct building. While she had acquired a little color from the lunch and the fresh air, she was still shaky. Munch had kept a protective hand on the small of her back as they walked to and from the deli, a fact Fin had not missed.

Frightened eyes lifted to meet his. "Is that really necessary, John? I know you have to call Roberto's children, but mine…? It scares me to call any more attention to them than absolutely necessary."

"I can understand that, Emily, but they are Panadoron by birth. They may have information you don't." Holding her gaze, he noted, "It will just be phone calls. Since none of them are in the City at the moment, no one will see them talking to the police or them coming to the precinct. That should minimize the risk of them being exposed."

Both men had to bend to hear her murmured, "Unless their phones are bugged."

"Isn't that a little paranoid, Emily?" Fin asked, mentally cringing at the thought she sounded like Munch.

"Maybe, but paranoid people can still get followed." Looking up at Fin's groan, she noted the grin on John's face and the long-suffering frown on that of his partner. "What?"

"He's probably heard me say the same thing a time or two," John offered, a smug smile firmly in place on his lips.

"And then some," Fin complained.

Deciding to wait for another time to pursue this discussion, she asked instead, "Can they bug cell phones?"

"Probably… that's a question I need to pose to the tech guys the next time I see them. The phone company and the government, yeah, but… humm," John mused, an intrigued expression slipping onto his face. Refocusing on the worried woman next to him, he promised, "We'll keep the contacts as low-key as we can. OK?"

"All three of them will be here by tomorrow if you call them. They are fond of Roberto and very protective of me," she predicted. "Marta will be here by tonight if she can find a flight. She doesn't teach in the summer; she only has rounds at the hospital. Their children are visiting Andy's parents, so she will drop everything and rush here to take care of me. She worries."

"I take it you're close to them?" Fin asked, holding the door for her to enter the building.

Nodding, she began, "Yes. Belle was only two when I married Esteban. She accepted me immediately and she's my baby. Paul was six, so he was slower to warm to me, but he did eventually."

Stepping into the elevator, she smiled at the memory. "Marta was sixteen and hated me on sight. We had a war of wills for two years until Esteban sent her to Spain for college. He sent Paul to boarding school there at the same time… a family tradition he said. A few weeks later, he took Belle and me to 'visit' friends in New York so we could finalize my adoption of the children in the US… he wanted the adoption to be recognized in both countries. I argued with him when he left us there and returned to Panador alone."

Leaning back against the elevator wall, she recalled, "We were here when word came he had disappeared. The official story was he had been taken by leftist guerrillas and was being held for ransom. I panicked and went back naively thinking I could get Juan, his older brother, to help me find him. I knew Juan hated me... I wasn't an acceptable wife for a Molina as far as he and his mother were concerned, but it never entered my mind…"

Taking a deep breath, she concluded, "After I got out, I insisted on bringing the older two children to live with me in the states. I was terrified to have them that far away from me. Marta was twenty by then… still in college in Barcelona. She could have stayed there but she needed to be with us too. Frankly, she took care of me and her younger siblings until I got my strength back. We don't have a mother-daughter relationship… she's only six years younger than me after all, but we are very close friends. I'm Mom to the other two. They are mine and I'll die before I let anyone hurt them."

Trading a look with Munch, Fin inserted, "Emily, they need to know for their own safety. Until we uncover the reasons for the killings, they need to be on alert."

The small amount of color that had returned to her features drained away as the reality of his warning registered. "Oh, God… I need…"

"You need to relax and let us help you. This is our job. OK?" Fin insisted. "There's a couch up in the loft where you can rest while John makes his calls."

"I need to call them and let them…" she began, fear giving her voice a shrill quality.

Turning her to face him, Munch shook his head. "Emily, listen. I know they are your children and you want to protect them, but this is a police investigation into the murders of three men. I'll make those calls. Once I finish, you can call them and talk as long as you want. I need to talk to them first. Now, please… let us do our job."

Frantic blue eyes held his for a few more seconds before her shoulders slumped. "I'll give you their numbers."

-----

"What's the word, John?"

His hand still resting on the phone, Munch turned to face Cragen. "Fonseca's three children had already been notified of their father's death by the Panadoron police. They aren't saying much at this point, but his two sons are coming to New York with Reyes tomorrow. They have confirmed Emily's ID of the tattoo as their father's from the photo I faxed to Reyes, but that's about all I got out of them. They have agreed to a DNA test for final verification once they get here. Their flight will get into JFK around 11 a.m. I'll make arrangements for someone to meet them."

"Ask Sandoval. Another Panadoron may put them off their guard."

"Will do. I've left messages for Emily's children and am waiting for them to call back. I..." Swinging around to grab the ringing phone, Munch answered. "Munch, SVU."

An elegant voice that betrayed only a hint of an accent responded. "Det. Munch… I am Marta Douglas. I had a message asking me to call you."

"Ah, Dr, Douglas… thank you for returning my call."

"What is this about, Detective Munch?" she demanded, her anxiety clear. "A message to call a NYPD detective is disconcerting to say the least… especially one in the Special Victims Unit. Is my step-mother all right? She wasn't home when I called there a few minutes ago to check on her and her cell phone is off. Her research assistant doesn't know where she is either."

Having anticipated her questions, he quickly answered, "Ms. Morgan is fine. She is here at the station and is safe. I asked her to let me speak to you first and, reluctantly, she agreed. I regret I must inform you that a close friend of your family has been killed."

A brief, fraught silence meet his statement. "Who?"

"Father Roberto Fonseca y Caban. He was murdered over the weekend. Your stepmother identified him this morning from a tattoo on his wrist," he reported.

"_¡Dios mío_! Is Emily all right? Why would she need to… Is it that bad… that she had to use his tattoo to identify him?" she demanded. (_My God_)

"Yes, it is."

Another pause. "Father Roberto is one of the men found dead… the story on CNN last night. I'm right aren't I?" she murmured. "How is Emily?"

"Yes, he is," Munch confirmed. "Emily is shaky and grieving the loss of her friend... but she is determined to help our investigation. She came to us this morning when she couldn't find Father Roberto. Thanks to her, we now have a lead in finding the men that killed him. Can I ask you some questions, Dr. Douglas?"

"Of course, Detective. Give me a second." Not bothering to cover the mouthpiece, perhaps wanting to make her actions clear and unambiguous, she called to her secretary. "Janice… see if you can book me a flight to New York City for later today. I'll take whatever they have… the first I can make. Charge it to my Amex. Then see if my husband is still on rounds. I need to talk to him, ASAP. Thanks."

"What do you need to know, Detective?"

"First, I must ask you to keep what I am about to say between us for now. We do not want the media to alert the killers we are exploring this line of investigation," Munch began.

"I understand and agree to your request."

"Your stepmother thinks Father Fonseca may have been killed by members of a Panadoron cell tied to supporters of the Zapatero regime. I read the book you wrote about your father and step-mother when it was published. During the course of your research, did you find any information that might help us in tracking possible suspects with ties to these groups?" Munch asked.

A long pause. "Yes, I think I do. Give me your email address. I'll send you a series of PDF's containing all of my notes and source documents. I scanned everything I collected and have a set of backup discs here at my office. They include transcripts of all of the interviews I conducted. There's a lot in there that might help."

Surprised by the offer, he responded, "Thank you. We'd appreciate getting our hands on that type of information."

After giving her his email address, Munch prompted, "I couldn't fail to notice that you didn't question your step-mother's belief that his murder has a Panadoron connection. Why is that, Doctor?"

"Emily confided in me last week that she was worried about the men he was investigating," she replied. "She and I are very close and I knew something was bothering her. I pestered her until she told me what she knew. I've been worried about them both ever since. Given Father Roberto's history, it is also a logical conclusion. He made a lot of enemies during his years with the State Police."

Following her lead, Munch admitted, "From the initial reports we have found, he was involved in the capture of several high profile fugitives. I assume their families would be at the top of that list."

"Most of the old ruling families fled by early 1986 when it became clear that Zapatero would fall… they had been moving their assets out of the country for months, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. I would imagine some are still bitter and dream of returning to their old lives, but most have moved on, Detective. That includes the children and grandchildren of many of those captured by Father Roberto." Sighing, she noted, "Most of them just want to put their family's involvement in the Zapatero government behind them and act as if it never happened. They have new lives and have no desire to return to Panador."

"Do you have any idea which families would still hold a grudge?"

Silence greeted his question and held for a full minute. Munch was about to repeat his question when she began to answer. "Yes, but most of those that are likely to be involved are not going to be the high profile exiles you are asking about. They are going to be the men that did the dirty work for Zapatero… their sons. Unlike the wealthy, they lost everything when the regime fell. Even now, their families carry the taint of being tied to the death squads and the prisons. They haven't faired nearly as well as the exiles. If they managed to flee Panador, they didn't have money to set themselves up in a new life, so they had to start over at the bottom… menial jobs, that sort of thing. Such a thing is a bitter pill for men used to more."

"And they blame the revolution for their fall rather than their own complicity in Zapatero's crimes?" he prompted.

Signing, she continued, "Yes. They are bitter and resent what happened to them, but they are going to be harder to track than those with money. There is a list of upper and mid-level bureaucrats that served the Zapatero regime in what I will send you. I compiled it from what documents I could acquire and from my interviews. There is also a list of guards and those reputed to be members of the death squads in another file. Father Roberto gave me most of those names, so they are accurate. The lists aren't complete, but it's a starting point. Their descendants… I have no information to offer on most of them. I may know a few."

Jotting down notes, Munch asked, "Were the interviews recorded?"

"Yes, but I don't have the tapes anymore. The FBI came to see me after my book was published. They took them to make copies, but failed to return them as they promised. I asked for them back several times, but they have apparently been 'misplaced'. I may have forgotten to mention to them I had the transcripts made." The dry, measured tones of her voice removed any doubts he might have had that the omission was accidental.

"Imagine that… the FBI being so careless. Can you suggest a name for the likely leaders of such a group… names I should pay particular attention to in those transcripts?" he pressed. "Any help would be appreciated, Doctor. We'd like to find them before victim number four falls into their hands. Is there one of the old families that might be at the heart of this group?"

Another silence preceded, "Yes… look for the name Ernesto Molina y Navarro."

"Molina?? Is he…?"

"My cousin… the younger son of my Uncle Juan, may he rot in Hell." Hatred gave her voice a hard edge. "Ernesto is a carbon copy of his father… ruthless and without a conscience. My money is on him."

-----


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 8

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. John/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thanks for reading!

Ghosts, Chapter 8

"Marta is coming into La Guardia at 8:45 tonight on a Delta flight. Paul and Belle will be here at 1:20 tomorrow afternoon. They are both routing through O'Hara, so they will arrive at JFK on the same flight."

Looking up from reading the printouts of Marta Douglas's research notes, Munch rose to his feet as Emily approached his desk. "You were right; they all told me they would be coming as soon as they could catch a flight. I'll have someone meet her and bring her here. Same for tomorrow."

"That's OK. I'll meet them. Marta will be tired, so…" Emily began.

Munch interrupted, "We need to talk to her about her research as soon as possible, Emily. There's a lot of material here and we need her guidance to get it organized. Besides, you agreed you wouldn't make yourself a target. You both would all be safer if you let us pick them up and bring them here. I'll ask plain-clothes officers to go so it won't call unwanted attention to them."

"I… see." Pausing, she asked, "Can I be of help with the research?"

Studying her exhausted features, he shook his head. "Why don't you go back up and rest a while longer? I'll let you know when Dr. Douglas gets here."

Frowning, she insisted, "I am not made of crystal, Detective. I won't break just because it was a rough day. If I can help, let me. I need to be doing something. Sitting around waiting isn't something I'm very good at doing."

"I wasn't suggesting you weren't able to help, but this is police business…"

"Business that I know a lot more about than you do, John. Now what can I do?" she demanded, a firm resolve settling on her face.

"Fine. Let me finish printing out the rest of these files and we can take everything into the interrogation room to read," he conceded. "Your step-daughter is very thorough. I'm impressed by the depth of her research. Her book was an amazing read."

"So I've been told, but I could never bring myself to get beyond the first few chapters," Emily admitted.

"I can well understand that," John murmured, angry with himself for not having foreseen that likelihood.

"Not to sound paranoid, but you may want to save those files to cd's and secure them in a safe place. You never know when you might need a backup… especially if the FBI decides to get involved." Seeing his frown, she added, "Paranoid people do get followed, remember? As a favor, please make a copy. It won't do any harm and I'll feel better knowing one is in a secure place."

A reluctant smile greeted her comment. "A cd backup… ok, I can do that."

Nodding, she offered, "Do you mind if I make a fresh pot of coffee? I think we'll need it before the day is over."

"Of course not, but you don't have to do it. I can make us a pot while this stuff prints," he offered.

Smiling for the first time since lunch, she shook her head. "No offense, but I've had the stuff you call coffee around here. I want to see if it's really the pot."

Hearing him chuckle, she moved over to study the coffeepot. "Here's an idea… has anybody tried cleaning this thing in… anytime this millennia?"

-----

"John… I think I've found a couple of sections in the interview transcripts that you need to read."

Looking up, John accepted the pages Emily slid across the table in his direction. "What have you found?"

"These two interviews caught my attention. The first is with a former guard at Guarida Del Diablo. He threatened Marta if she published the book and verbally attacked Esteban as a traitor to his people. I don't think he knew he was being recorded because he goes off on a rant about the civilian government and says its days are numbered. He lived here in New York when she interviewed him." Taking a deep breath, she continued, "The other interview is with an administrator in the records department of the State Police under Zapatero. He knows where all the bodies are buried… both literally and figuratively."

A rueful look lit Munch's face as he looked up from the pages she had handed him. "I'll have to take your word for it, Emily. I never did well in Spanish class, so this is well beyond my ability to read. Luckily, Dr. Douglas kept her notes in English. Now, if you run across any notes in Yiddish, Russian, or Greek, I'm your man."

"Impressive… especially Greek. That's a tough one to learn. I never got too far with it," she commented. "So, do you want me to read this to you or just hit the highlights?"

"Give me the highlights for now and then we can set it aside to study in greater detail later," he responded, handing her back the pages.

"OK… the former guard is a man named Domingo Juarez. At the time Marta spoke to him, he lived in the Bronx. He rants about the revolution and the destruction of the traditional culture of Panador by the 'peasants' that now run things. He claims he was only being a good citizen when he served Zapatero and denies having any part in the tortures that took place at the prison." Pausing, she added, "He says that the new government has powerful enemies and that it will soon fall… the old order restored as it should be."

Skimming through the pages, she noted, "He made a joke about the day my husband died which means he had to have been present to have known… these details."

"What details?"

In a low voice she whispered, "That he was castrated."

Speaking in a gentle tone, Munch pointed out, "That was known, Emily. I heard that rumor while I was in Santa Isabel that summer."

"OK, maybe that was known, but… I never heard anyone add that… they choked him with his own…" Unable to continue, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the memory. "Its also not common knowledge I was there… forced to watch. This man knew both of those facts, plus the details of how he died. He was there."

Stunned, he asked, "You were there? They made you watch them torture him?"

"Yes," she murmured, her voice breaking.

"Why…? What purpose could that have served?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Eyes clinched shut, she whispered, "Zapatero didn't want me… hurt since I was pregnant. I was carrying a child of one of the families that supported him, so he planned to wait until I gave birth… give the baby to my mother-in-law to raise as one of his supporters. He also had other plans for me… the reason he didn't want me disfigured. He had his own… dungeons and wanted me as his toy."

"But… the beating that caused you to loose your child… broke your back…?" Munch began.

Sighing, she raked her hands through her hair as haunted eyes opened to meet his. "Juan didn't always do what he was told. Family pride was more important to him than orders from above. He couldn't accept the idea of my daughter being a Molina, so he took matters into his own hands. The ironic thing is the beating disfigured my body and may have saved me the fate Zapatero intended… assuming they were able to keep me as he planned."

Unable to control his disquiet, he extended his hand to comfort her, but managed to stop himself a few inches from her clinched fingers. Leaving his hand laying on the table next to hers, he pressed, "What possible purpose could making you watch serve? It wouldn't have made your husband talk to spare you the torture if he knew they weren't hurting you."

"Other than to torment me without injuring the baby or leaving any marks?" she murmured. "And don't discount how much it humiliated Esteban having me witness what they did to him. Physical torture can sometimes be the easiest to withstand, John."

"But…" Pausing to take a breath, John whispered, "What did they think you could tell them?"

"Nothing… I knew nothing," she responded. "Several forces were converging at that point and no one knew what my fate would be, not even Zapatero. As much as he wanted to add me to his collection, the international outcry that was demanding my release complicated matters for them. They knew that they may be forced to give up the body to my family… with the claim they had found the 'leftists' camp too late to save me. They probably didn't want to have to explain too many scars either."

"That's your body you're talking about!" John exclaimed.

"I know." The pale skin of her face stood out in stark contrast to the dark blue material of her blouse.

Appalled, John stared at her for several seconds before asking, "But why would they let you see them torture their other victims? You could then confirm the rumors… like you did when you were released. Why would they risk you having that knowledge?"

"They never thought they would have to return me alive. Roberto's pictures made that necessary if they wanted to keep the support of the US and other key European governments. Those pictures confirmed both the fact that I was alive and that the government held me." Looking up to meet his gaze, she offered what explanation she could. "They would make me watch as they 'interrogated' their victims thinking I would talk to try and save them… or so they claimed. I would have… talked I mean, if I had known anything, but they had to know I knew nothing. In the end, that bit of cruelty is what ultimately undermined their support in our government. Our people could no longer deny what was happening in Panador."

"But…"

Taking his hand in a tight hold, she begged, "Please… leave it, John. Rehashing what happened doesn't change any of it. It won't bring my daughter back. I don't need vengeance any more and I don't expect justice. I just want to make sure these monsters don't hurt anyone else. I can live with that; it's all I'm going to get in this life and I've had to accept that fact."

Holding her gaze for a moment longer, he reluctantly nodded. Seeing him relent, Emily sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, her hand still gripping his. It did not take a psychiatrist to understand that she was struggling to reestablish the barriers that kept those memories safely locked away.

Making a mental note to discuss the fact that their victims had been tortured in the same manner as Esteban Molina with Huang, he asked, "Could you identify Juarez, Emily?" A plan had begun to form in his head.

Surprised by the question, she forced open her eyes and stared at him. "Maybe… I remember some faces as clearly as I see yours now. Others… they are a blur. I remember voices, but some of them blend together in my mind. I wasn't doing too well during that time, John, so my memory of details can be suspect. Why?"

"If he was there during the torture of your husband, then Panador will want him back for trial. If Reyes can get us an extradition request, we would have grounds for picking him up for questioning and not call as much attention to our investigation. In any case, if he was there, he should be made to stand accountable for it," he concluded. "Down side of that is it could draw unwelcome attention to you and your daughter."

"Not if the request was dressed up as coming from an informer in Panador and was funneled through the FBI."

Turning toward the door, they found they had been joined by Olivia Benson, Don Cragen and an unknown man and woman… both in conservative suits. In a voice brittle with contempt, Emily bit out, "Dixon… I wondered if you would show up."

-----

"Ed, Joe… dispatch just called. There is a body in a condo on the Upper West Side. Here's the address. Let me know what you find," Lt. Anita van Buren instructed, handing her detective a slip of paper with the promised address.

Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, Ed Greene asked, "We have a name on the body?"

"Not yet. Condos owned by David and Bianca Cortez."

-----

"Mrs. Molina… it's always a pleasure to see you even if the circumstances are tragic," the man replied. Looking over at Munch, he introduced himself. "Det. Munch, I'm Special Agent Aaron Dixon, FBI, and this is my partner, Special Agent Anna Garza."

"Anna Garza? Are you…" Emily began, oblivious to the fact she still held Munch's hand.

"Yes, Senõra Molina. My parents always spoke with great affection of you," the attractive younger woman replied. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

"You look a lot like your mother. That's why I asked. I was so sorry to hear about their deaths. I was fond of both of them," Emily offered, deliberately ignoring the other agent. "You were staying with relatives in Miami and I never got to meet you. I did, however, see a lot of pictures."

"No doubt. Mom was notorious for her pictures!" Moving around to join the older woman on the far side of the table, Agent Garza gently asked, "Can I see the pages you were reading to Det. Munch? If there is something there that would help us get a warrant… one that might appear to be unrelated to this case, it gives us a way to pull him so the police can talk to him about these murders."

Uncertain, Emily looked across the table attempting to judge Munch's reaction to the request. It was clear, despite her prior friendship with Garza's parents, she did not trust the FBI. "John? Captain Cragen? This is your case, so…"

"Thank you for your discretion, Ms. Morgan. I have spoken with both Special Agent Garza and Special Agent Dixon about their role in this investigation before we joined you and John." Smiling reassuringly, Cragen continued, "We asked for any assistance they might be able to offer in this case, but both agencies have acknowledged that this is a local homicide investigation. If you have found something that helps, please share it with Agent Garza."

Her reservations still clear in her expressive eyes, Emily handed the requested pages to the agent. "My step-daughter interviewed this man for her book. From the details he knows about my husband's torture and death, he was one of the guards present the day he was killed."

"As you know, Paul and I went to school together. I'm looking forward to seeing Marta and him again." After reading the document, Garza handed the pages to her partner. "You have a good eye for detail, Senõra Molina. I have read these reports, but did not make this connection before. I believe you are right… he was there."

"I would agree," Dixon offered, passing the pages on to Benson. "Captain, I can make a request through our contacts in Santa Isabel for an extradition request for Juarez. Like I said earlier, it would call less attention to Dr. Molina if it comes through those channels. You want me to make a call?"

"You mean Dr. Douglas," Munch inserted.

Looking over at the narrowed eyes of the brisling woman at the table, Dixon shook his head. "No, I meant Dr. Molina… or Morgan. Haven't you told them you recently completed your PhD?"

"You are still watching me! Why?" she bit out. "And for the record, I'm a doctoral candidate. I haven't received my degree, so the granting of that title is premature."

"I don't want to rehash prior… disagreements, Ms. Morgan." Facing her, he added. "You became a person of interest to the federal government the day you became involved with Esteban Molina. While I regret comments I made to you in the past… I was out of line and being incredibly arrogant… cruel to have said what I did, we have kept an unofficial eye on both you and your children since you were freed. You made a lot of enemies… enemies with long memories. We would have failed you a second time if we had done less."

"I don't need the goddamn FBI snooping around in my life! You're damned right you failed me once. I don't give 'do-overs' on that scale, Agent Dixon!" Pushing away from the table, she rose and walked over to the window. The tense set of her back and the way she had once again wrapped herself in her own arms spoke clearly of strong emotions tearing at her.

Frowning, Munch stood and moved to her side. "What did Agent Dixon do that makes you hate him… the FBI like this, Emily?"

Dixon spoke when she did not immediately answer. "When word reached her of her husband's arrest… or kidnapping as it was first reported, she came to us for help. Senõra Molina went from agency to agency… the offices of any elected official she could think of asking for help. At one point, she was shuffled into my office… the office of an obviously inexperienced and hostile rookie. She wanted help in getting him back. She got none from any of us. We told her it was an internal matter for the Zapatero government to handle… that there was nothing we could or would do to help her husband."

"Esteban was my husband and I'm an American! I expected more of MY government than to be called a traitor for marrying a 'leftist guerilla'… to be told I had 'made my bed' and that 'I would just have to learn to lie in it alone!' I particularly appreciated your comforting line 'at least he left you knocked up before he left'… that I'd have my own 'little commie to donate to the cause in a few years.'" she snarled. "I left for Panador the next day. What choice did I have?"

A deafening silence descended on the room. Munch took an involuntary step closer to the woman at the window, seeking to shelter her from further abuse. To his amazed relief, she shifted to allow him to place himself between her and the rest of the occupants of the room. By a supreme effort of will, he restrained himself from placing a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"You really said that, Aaron?"

Never taking his eyes of the couple at the window, the FBI agent nodded grimly. "Yeah, Anna, I did. I was an even bigger asshole then than I am now. I never have had the chance to apologize for what I said that day, Senõra Molina. It has bothered me for years."

"Yeah, I could tell that day… in my hospital room when you showed up with that other stormtrooper," she muttered, her fingers digging deeply into the soft flesh of her arms. "You made a major effort to restrain him I noticed… not that I was able to notice much given the fact I had just woken up from major surgery when you showed up. Did you think I would admit to something while I was still under the influence of the anesthesia, too weak to resist your demands… your threats? Sorry I didn't have any more to tell you than I did my prior hosts."

Frowning, Dixon admitted, "Yeah… that was Martinez's plan exactly. Like I said, I regret how you were treated by the agency and by me personally."

A bitter, "I can see why the Feds liked Zapatero. You had a lot in common with him," was her only reply.

"I was a young, brainwashed rookie, Senora Molina. I was bigoted, cruel and stupid," Dixon offered. "You have every right to be bitter about how you were treated, but I swear to you I regret my part in that. I promise you, here in front of these witnesses, you can trust me. I want to see those responsible for what they did to these three men punished."

A new voice entered the discussion from the doorway. "And I want it understood… neither the police nor the FBI will knowing place Senõra Molina and her family in any jeopardy whatsoever. They will receive round-the-clock protection until all hints of this matter are resolved. That includes her parents, son-in-law, and grandchildren in SC… something I will expect the FBI to handle. I want the assurances of all present that you understand that and will abide by my direct order. Am I clear?"

Turning to look, Emily gave a tight smile. "Hello Arthur. Did David or Pamela send you?"

"Both… along with Marta, Paul, Belle, and my Executive ADA, who is in court right now," DA Arthur Branch replied, moving to join the pair by the window. "Otherwise, Jack would have been here to terrorize the populous on your behalf. He was in my office when Casey Novak talked with me about Captain Cragen's request for help with the Panadoron government."

After pressing an affectionate kiss to her forehead, he asked, "Care to tell me what is going on here, beautiful?"


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 9

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Please R&R!!!

Ghosts, Chapter 9

"Nina Vasquez, 59… TOD was 48 to 72 hours ago. We'll know more once we get her on the table," Philip Anders reported. Looking up from his position by the body, the Assistant ME continued. "Her throat was slashed… she bled out and died almost immediately. No signs of battery and no defensive wounds. Also, no signs of sexual trauma. Kill was clean… she never knew what hit her is my guess."

Jotting down notes, Ed Green nodded. "Looks like the perp got her from behind, so I doubt you'll find anything under her nails."

"I'll bag them, but don't expect anything."

"OK. You ready to roll her?" the detective asked, stuffing his pad back into his jacket packet.

"Was just waiting on you," was the reply. "Now."

"There's a bruise on her face. What do you make of that?" Green questioned, stepping back so the CSU tech could take pictures of the victim's face and chest.

"Most likely sustained when she hit the ground after she was slashed, but I'll let you know if we find out anything different," Anders responded. "Don't see anything under her except what looks to be a cleaning rag. She has a roll of Lifesavers in her pocket…. and nothing else. I'll bag them both."

"Thanks Anders. How long before we can expect a report?" Green asked, moving out of the way so that the ME's staff could ready the body for transport to the morgue.

"We're backed-up as usual. Rogers will likely do the autopsy. Maybe tomorrow."

"Right." Studying the room, Green began to look for anything that might provide them with clues to the identity of the murder. Hearing his partner enter the apartment, he reported, "Throat cut… no signs of a fight or rape. This room is pretty neat, no signs it was tossed by a robber."

"No signs either of David or Bianca Cortez and their two daughters. Our vic was their housekeeper," Joe Fontana supplied. "Victim's husband has been trying to find her for two days, so I'd assume she's been dead most of that time. I sent him over to the precinct to wait for us. He's pretty torn up."

"Two days fits the TOD Anders gave of 48 to 73 hours." Stopping at the door of one of the bedrooms, Green noted the drawers and closets were all open, clothing scattered around the room. "This room was either searched or the owner was in a big hurry to get out of here.

After checking the other two rooms, Fontana called, "Same here. You see any luggage in that room, 'cos I haven't found any luggage in these closets? Unless they stored them elsewhere, my bet is this family is on the run."

Nodding, Green activated the messages from the answering machine. "Yeah, seems likely. Got 22 messages waiting, so they haven't been here in a while."

The second message captured both detectives complete attention. "David… you and your family need to get out of town fast. They're after you. They killed Roberto and Tomás. They will be looking for you next."

-----

"Captain Cragen, as much as it pains me to say this, Emily Morgan and her children will be the keys to your finding the ones responsible for killing Roberto Fonseca and the other two men." Holding the police commander's gaze, DA Arthur Branch continued. "They know more about the men tied to the Zapatero regime than any of us and they are willing to help. I think it's safe to say the Panadoron government will provide only a limited amount of help… unless they are persuaded by Emily or her children. The same will likely be true within the Panadoron communities in the City. I expect you to take care of them… keep them safe, but screw normal procedures and let them help."

Glancing over at Emily, he added, "Assuming they are still willing."

"You know I will help all I can, Arthur. So will my children," she replied, still starting out the window.

Walking back to her side, he settled a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I never doubted it, beautiful. I have to run… another damn meeting I have to attend. Do you need anything from me before I go? I'm sure Jack will be checking in on you once he gets free."

"Tell him I'm fine… not to worry about me, either of you," she offered, a small smile easing the lines on her face.

"Humm… you and I both know how far that will get us. Jack McCoy listens to me only when he feels he must. He cares about you… deeply." Grinning at the look he was getting, Branch added in a low voice, "I know. I know. You've been upfront with him, so stop feeling guilty. He's your friend, so let him help if you can. Maybe it's not what he wants, but it will make him feel better about what he does have… your trust and respect."

Nodding her head, she let him pull her into an embrace. "Take care and tell your kids we aren't letting them leave town without having you all to dinner. You know Maggie will have my head if I let that happen."

"We can't have you getting in trouble with your wife on our account, now can we? We'd enjoy that as always." Stretching up to kiss his cheek, she added, "Thank you."

Grinning he gave her a final squeeze. "We southerners have to stick together and remind the rest of this City that being from the South or a small town doesn't mean we're ignorant or backwards."

"I wish us luck on that!" she concluded with a chuckle.

-----

"If I didn't already know you were openly gay and in a committed relationship, I might have thought you were hitting on me this morning… asking me on a date." Sending him a teasing grin, Casey took her seat across from George Huang. "So what is it you think you know about John and me?"

Studying her for a moment, Huang asked, "Quite a change in your position on this matter, Ms. Novak. Why do you want to know now?"

"Curiosity more than anything," she replied, signaling the waitress. "Beefeater martini straight-up, three olives."

Settling back, she demanded, "OK, George, why did you feel the need to follow me to the elevator and warn me away from John?"

Tilting his head, Huang smiled. "Is that what I did? I could have sworn… under oath counselor, that I urged you to be sure of your feelings before you did anything. That was neither a warning not to pursue him nor encouragement to make a move. You've been torturing yourself with indecision for over a year and I doubt you truly know what you want from him. You have to figure that out for yourself and then live with the consequences. My only advice is decide before you do anything."

Staring at him for a minute, Casey started to speak, then paused as her drink was placed in front of her. After taking a healthy sip, she asked, "Have I been that obvious?"

"I wouldn't say obvious, but you have been giving him a lot of mixed signals." Laughing, Huang admitted, "It's been rather entertaining to watch the mystified looks that come over his face when you do. He is either clueless of your interest in him or hiding it very well. Honestly, I think he's clueless, but I wouldn't put the possibility it's a front past him either. He is the hardest at SVU to accurately read. John's very good at covering up what he is truly feeling, even to the point of making himself seem like a heartless bastard. Drives Elliot crazy, especially his habit of making jokes to get through a tough day."

"He isn't, you know. Heartless, I mean. He just does that to make it all bearable," she murmured.

"I know that."

Staring at her hands as they fiddled with the stem of her glass, Casey mused, "If I'm giving off signals and he hasn't made even a tentative move… I guess I have my answer before I start. No point in risking rejection and causing problems at work if he's not interested."

"Why do woman always assume that men are any more willing to be the first to risk rejection? Or that men always understand when they are being signaled?" George chuckled. "If it makes you feel any better, being gay doesn't mean you avoid those issues. I repeat, Casey, YOU need to decide what you want… if your attraction has the depth to make you want a relationship or if you're just intrigued by his persona."

Strangling on her second sip of the martini, she sputtered, "His persona??"

A wicked gleam lit Huang's eyes. "While neither of us is going to argue that John Munch is handsome by any of the normal standards, he is sexy as hell. He is also brilliant, witty, moody, and full of more angst than a Lifetime movie of the week. On even his best days, he is difficult to deal with, opinionated, set in his ways, scared by too many failed relationships, and a total workaholic. When he wants to be, he is charming, engaging, and amusing. Add it all up and he is a fascinating man. I can see why you are attracted to him."

"I can't believe you just said 'more angst than a Lifetime movie of the week'! Seems too low-brow for you, George." Narrowing her gaze, she demanded, "Sexy as hell? You've thought about John an awful lot. Are you trying to scare me off so you can go after him yourself?"

"I get paid to think about all of you… a lot," he teased. "If there was a gay impulse in him, my lover might have cause to worry. As it stands, John is hopelessly hetero, though he both loves and hates woman."

Taking a sip of his drink, Huang revised his last thought. "No, that's not fair. John has issues with relationships, but he loves woman, can be amazingly understanding, and gentle… even empathetic. We saw that today."

Unready to venture into a discussion of the scene they had witnessed in the interrogation room, she asked, "Is he incapable of keeping up his end of a long-term relationship? He has been married four times after all."

"I have no way of answering that with any certitude, Casey. There are no guarantees for any relationship," he cautioned. "If that's what's been holding you back, I would suspect he has a bigger problem with the idea of getting involved again more than commitment itself. If he did make the leap, I suspect he would commit a well as any man in his fifties, with a demanding job, and a bad track record."

"Gee, that helps a lot! I can see that Harvard degree isn't just a conversation starter," she quipped. "Seriously, George, what do you think is at the heart of his failed marriages?"

"I've never discussed his marriages with him, so any opinion I have is based entirely on my observations. I've picked up most of it from hearing his jokes and from seemingly off-hand comments he makes... especially when he thinks no one is really listening to him." Frowning, he noted, "It's always struck me how often he does that and it's rather sad. He's lonely and has grown used to being ignored on certain levels."

Signaling the waitress for a second round of drinks, he continued. "From what I have pieced together, John apparently married four beautiful but needy, demanding woman. I suspect they found him difficult to understand, especially when the conversation moved beyond them… or sex which it enviably did. His comments lead me to think he was bored and/or frustrated… may have felt like he was being used by them. He genuinely likes woman, but he is bitterly disappointed not to have found a lasting relationship. For the most part, I suspect he gave up trying some years ago."

Meeting his gaze, she admitted, "I like John… a lot, but it's complicated. There is the fact he is over twenty years my senior and a co-worker of sorts. Both of us have demanding schedules… we're on call 24/7 and that takes a toll on any relationship. I'd be lying if I didn't admit his track record is off-putting, but I've noticed the same things you have and they… pull at me. I've started to make… overtures several times, but it never seemed right."

"Casey, can I be honest?" Huang prompted.

A small laugh preceded, "I think I've admitted too much, George, for me to pretend I don't want some advice. Frankly, I've been thinking about what you said since I left the precinct this morning and… I'd like to have the opinion of someone that knows us both and is objective. My girlfriends don't know John and really don't get what's bothering me."

"OK… you're lonely and frustrated by the demands your job have placed on you. You love being an ADA and have no intention of giving it up any time soon," Huang began, smiling his thanks as his drink was placed in front of him. "You connect to John because you see him more clearly than the others… except Fin. You like and respect him. You know he would understand the demands that come with your job because they come with his. You find him a challenge and you are attracted to him physically."

"My honest opinion is you're not in love with John, but… you could be under the right circumstances. That means taking the risk… a risk you aren't ready to take yet, in my opinion." Holding her faltering gaze, Huang suggested, "Instead of giving up or taking a big plunge, why not take small 'toe-in-the-water' steps and see how that goes? You want to know… need to know if there is more between you two, so… join them for lunch or for drinks when you can. Try to sit near him and engage him in conversations that let you both see each other in a new light. If something develops, it develops… if not, I suspect you'll become better friends. Either way, it will be good for both of you."

A small smile slowly slipped onto her lips. "I've been doing just the opposite. When they ask, I decline because I've been afraid I'd slip and let him… them know I was interested before I was sure. OK, I'll give that a try. Thanks."

Sipping her martini, she finally asked, "Have I waited too long in any case and missed the opportunity? We both saw how he was reacting to Emily Morgan."

Sighing, he admitted, "I'd be lying if I said that wasn't possible. Emily Morgan is a fascinating woman beyond being exceptionally beautiful. If John was there that day when she was freed, he may have been enamored with her all these years. If that's the case, he will not be able to stop himself from pursuing her… and may get hurt badly. Emily Morgan went through hell and I have no doubts she has wounds neither of us can imagine."

Slumping slightly, Casey asked, "Did you find the book? What did she do that so impressed John? Is she truly the hero he made her out to be?"

"Honestly… yes, she is." Reaching down to pull a copy of a book from his briefcase, Huang slid it across the table to her. "They had two copies, so I got them both. You may want to read this."

Eyeing him warily as she began to flip through the book, Casey stopped on a picture near the back. A soft gasp left her lips. Still staring at the image, she murmured, "I've seen this picture. This is her?"

"Yes. She's right… the media did make it an icon," he noted. "A few pages over there is a picture of several young revolutionaries that were killed by one of Zapatero's death squads. They were wearing t-shirts with that picture on the front, the image soaked in their blood. Her guilt must be crushing."

-----


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 10

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Feedback appreciated!!!!

-----

Ghosts, Chapter 10

Munch looked up to study the woman that Fin escorted into the interrogation room as night settled around the City. He, Olivia, and Emily had been were working their way through the mountain of material Marta Douglas had emailed to him in the hours after the FBI had left to secure a warrant for Juarez's arrest. Rising to greet the woman, he and his partners stood to one side as Emily threw her arms around her stepdaughter.

Marta Douglas looked like she sounded… elegant, smart, and determined. There was a regal quality to her bearing, one that was softened when she smiled. From the faint lines around her eyes, Munch knew she smiled a lot. That fact made her approachable, gave her face a warmth seemingly at odds with his original impression. Thick blue-black hair had been cut into a bob that framed a face more pretty than beautiful. Intense brown eyes studied the world with an unflinching curiosity, hinting at the quick, decisive mind behind their luster.

The detectives quickly understood that, while the two women didn't share a mother-daughter relationship, the pair did share a deeply devoted friendship. Marta was one of only a small handful of people that Emily trusted without reservation; one whose opinion she respected enough to allow it to sway her own… on rare occasions. The depth of the love that bound them was unlike any most people would ever know, forged by tragedies most would never have survived.

John was pulled from his musing by the sound of Emily's voice. "John, Olivia… let me introduce you to my daughter, Marta Douglas. Fin and John are the lead detectives on this case, Marta."

"Dr. Douglas. Emily has told us a lot about you. It's a pleasure to meet you," John offered, extending his hand in welcome.

Studying the tall, lean man before her, Marta took his hand and held it a moment longer than was customary. She seemed to be trying to peer into his mind… his soul. Apparently satisfied by what she saw, she smiled. "Det. Munch. A pleasure."

Olivia was subjected to the same intense analysis as John had been. She too was rewarded with an engaging smile. Offering her hand to the female detective, she greeted, "Det. Benson."

"Olivia Benson, Dr. Douglas, but Liv works best. Thank you for all you help so far. The records you've provided us are amazing," Liv responded. "They may take us weeks to completely review."

Nodding, Marta linked her arm with Emily's. "Perhaps I can be of help in sorting out the inconsequential material from the documents that truly deserve your attention. It seems Emi has already started doing just that."

Grinning, Emily teased, "You fell for it, Doc! Arthur's already 'encouraged' them to put all of us to work, but I expected a little more effort would be required before you agreed."

"I missed our esteemed DA?"

"He'll be back. Will I do in the interim?"

Turning, the group found Jack McCoy standing in the doorway. "Jack! It's always a pleasure to see you. How have you been?" Marta asked, accepting a hug.

"Busy, but that's normal. How about you?" the EADA asked, bending to press a kiss on Emily's cheek.

Knowing Emily was uncomfortable with McCoy's rather obvious interest, Marta eased her friend toward the table. The protective glare ghosting across John Munch's face as he watched McCoy caught her off-guard. Feeling Emily pull gently away from her, Marta quickly fixed a bright smile on her face to cover her surprise when the older woman moved to take a seat next to the detective… one she had occupied for most of the afternoon.

"Andy and I were enjoying a brief respite from the duties of parenthood, Jack. The children are visiting his parents in Florida for two weeks, so we were having a bit of a second honeymoon when Det. Munch called." Smiling at Emily, she teased, "They are due back this weekend, so he gets to reestablish the rules on his own. It could have been worse for him… they could have been visiting Emi! We almost sent them back to her after their last visit, they were so spoiled!"

A sweet, heart-stealing smile lit Emily's lovely face. "Please do! I love having them visit… and the only reason Alice and Phil spoil them a tiny bit less is they have other grands to divide their efforts. You and Andy need to put pressure on Paul to give up his bachelor ways and start giving me more grandchildren."

Shaking her head, Marta complained, "But not your baby Belle? 26 is old enough to get married!"

Laughing for the first time that day, the older woman demanded, "Leave Belle alone until she gets her career established… just like you and Andy did… and Paul! After that, we'll all start hassling her!"

"I'll hold you to that, Emi!" Sighing, she became all business. "I sent John my research from the book before I left Charleston, Jack. They have been wading though it since it arrived. Have you had any success in tracking down leads into the murders from my sources?"

Nodding, John waved the new arrivals to join them at the conference table. "Emily found two possibilities in the interview transcripts almost immediately. The FBI is executing an arrest warrant for one of them tonight. Their contacts inside Panador fronted the request because they want to talk to him once we're through with him. We're hoping an FBI warrant will call less attention to Emily and yourself."

Looking over at her stepmother, Marta watched her face set in a mask at the mention of the FBI's involvement. Knowing it was best to save her questions about that until they were alone, she asked, "Who did she find?"

"Domingo Juarez. Do you remember your interview with him, Dr. Douglas?" Fin interjected, having seen Emily's closed expression. Olivia had filled him in on the encounter with the FBI when he returned from organizing the officers handling the door-to-door interviews in the Panadoron neighborhoods. He understood her bitterness.

"I remember him all too well, Fin, and please call me Marta." Raking her hand through her hair in an agitated manner, she continued, "He was a guard in the central prison during the time both my father and Emily were held there. Roberto knew him and warned me not to go alone to talk to him. I was greatly relieved to have two bodyguards with me when I interviewed him. He truly frightened me. He was one of the names I was going to suggest you investigate."

"Do you have a list?" Jack inquired.

"Yes. I spent my time during the flight compiling a list of names that may get you started," she replied, pulling a folder from her bag. Taking several pages from the top of a thick stack, she added, "A few still live in Panador, but most are scattered across the eastern seaboard… Miami, Atlanta, Baltimore, New York for the most part. The addresses in my files are ten years old, but they may give you a starting point. I suspect you will find many of them have police records… once a thug, always a thug."

Accepting the list, John asked, "Did you interview each of these men?"

Shaking her head, Marta clarified, "Quite a few of them, but not all. Emily and I can find those interviews for you… most are in Spanish. As for the rest, there will be references to them throughout my research. Some were major players. The Panadoron government has been looking for them since the Zapatero regime fell. The list includes several ranking members of his government that have evaded capture and extradition. The others were their literal 'hatch men'… leaders of various death squads, guards, senior military personal, and the like."

"You suggested your cousin Ernesto as a possible leader of this group when we spoke earlier. Tell me why you think he's our man," John urged, reaching over to cover Emily's hand as he heard her gasp as the man's name was mentioned. "Emily? What's wrong?"

Looking up to meet his gaze, she offered, "Do you remember my saying that some of the men returned for trial in Panador weren't formally extradited? His father, Juan Molina, was one of those men. Juan escaped to Spain in the last days before the regime fell and was living on the coast near Barcelona. Roberto and his men went in one night and took him. It was rumored the Spanish authorities helped them get him out… at the very least looked the other way while it was happening."

"He wasn't arrested... he was kidnapped?" Jack demanded, his gaze fixed on John's hand still covering Emily's.

"As I told Capt. Cragen earlier, I have few illusions about my friends' methods, Jack," she gently chided. "Vengeance and justice aren't the same thing. Given the magnitude of his crimes, justice wasn't possible, so the Panadorons settled for his death. The Panadoron police weren't overly worried about how they got him before that firing squad, only that they did."

Nodding grudgingly, McCoy observed, "Their methods must have made his family's anger all the greater."

"An eye for an eye," Emily agreed. "Ernesto tried without success to get the Spanish government to demand his return, citing the illegal nature of his capture. The Spanish government had become a republic again after Franco's death and the Zapatero regime lost its support; his petitions were ignored. Ernesto fled to South America after several government officials were murdered following Juan's execution… officials that refused to help his cause. I don't know if he was ever formally charged, but David Llewellyn told me he was the prime suspect in their deaths."

"Father Roberto would definitely be on his hit list then," Fin observed. "When did these murders take place?"

"My uncle as executed in May 1996. Those murders occurred within weeks of his death," Marta inserted. "My father had friends in the reestablished republic. That was the reason he risked sending my brother and me to Spain rather than the US. He hoped to call less attention to his plans, yet still leave us in a safe place. When he was captured, those friends placed a small army around us to make sure we were not taken back to Panador as my grandmother insisted. Spain did not become the haven so many of Zapatero's supporters imagined they would find in the 'homeland'."

"Where in South America did Ernesto flee?" Olivia asked.

"Rio… no extradition and access to a decadent lifestyle that fit his interests," Marta supplied. "I have heard rumors he still travels abroad, but I have not seen him since the fall I left for Spain… 1984. His older brother died in the revolution, so he inherited the vast majority of Juan's fortune. He has the resources to travel in style, completely under the radar."

"I'll check with Interpol and see what they can tell us," Olivia offered. "I'll also send a request for information to the Barcelona police."

"David and Pamela Llewellyn may be of some help as well," McCoy mused. "Perhaps, we should go and talk with them tomorrow, Emily?'

"Of course. John had mentioned talking to them earlier," she demurred. "They knew and respected Roberto. I'm sure they will help if they can."

Nodding, John checked those items off the list he was making of follow-ups they needed to make. He hadn't missed Emily's subtle side-step of McCoy's proposed meeting. He knew the EADA from several cases, including a couple that had involved his old division in Baltimore. He knew the man was a brilliant, if sometimes controversial, attorney. He had also seen his obvious interest in Emily. For whatever reason, Emily wasn't interested… a fact that left him feeling relieved and oddly hopeful.

Forcing his mind back to the business at hand, he asked, "Marta… what else can you tell us about your cousin?"

Fixing Munch with an unwavering stare, the doctor replied, "While my specialty is pediatric surgery, I did the standard rotation in the psych wards during my internship. Ernesto is a true sociopath, as was his father. He is cold, calculating, sadistic, and utterly ruthless. Even as a child, he had a reputation for cruelty. He is seven years older than me, so I did not spend much time with him thankfully. There were rumors he enjoyed torturing small animals… escalating from there to people. I heard from more than one source that he was there the day my father died."

Both Munch and Marta noticed the faint nod Emily gave at this observation, but made no comment to draw the others' attention to her. "It was rumored that Zapatero was grooming both of my cousins as his heirs… he had no sons, only six daughters that he dismissed as potential leaders. Ernesto married one of Zapatero's granddaughters, Ángela Delgado. Ángela was a friend of mine… a sweet, gentle person. I have always had suspicions about how she died."

Shocked, Emily whispered, "Ángela is dead? When?"

"Roberto never told you? It was a few weeks before Mercedes' wedding." Sighing, the younger woman suggested, "He probably didn't want to upset you. He told Paul and me one night after dinner. The report he had was she died in an accidental fall at their home in Rio. Neighbors heard him yelling at her in the minutes before she fell. He remarried a year later to her cousin, Elena Torres."

"Isn't she a lot older than Ernesto? She was Zapatero's favorite… Damn!" Emily exclaimed. "He killed Ángela so that he could marry her cousin. Elena served as Zapatero's official hostess after her grandmother died. John, that may sound like a minor detail, but details and image are vital to people like Zapatero. Elena served as the 'first lady' for her grandfather. Having her as his wife would help reinforce Ernesto's claim to Zapatero's powor… assuming he is the one behind this."

A bitter sneer twisted Marta's lips. "I heard that she was not just his 'official hostess', but that she took over ALL of her grandmother's duties. She married in a hurry when she was nineteen… to one of Zapatero's lackeys and had a baby seven months later. The boy was born with a congenital heart condition and died before he was two. That type of birth defect could have been the result of inbreeding. It always made my skin crawl to be around her."

"She had that effect on me too," Emily admitted. "I heard those rumors, but… you know how vicious it could be if someone saw a way to further themselves at another's expense. Your father once told me he suspected Juan was behind those rumors, hoping to discredit Elena's children as possible rivals to his sons' position."

"That makes sense too… and Papa was in the position to better judge the true state of affairs. He was the baby's doctor after all." A humorless laugh preceded, "It would be ironic to think that Juan wanted to tear her down with those rumors and his son married her for the very thing that made her a threat to his plans."

"So, you both know of several reasons to support Ernesto Molina as 'the man who would be dictator'?" Jack inserted, wanting to return the conversation to their main topic. "He was one of Zapatero's possible heirs, had a personal reason to want Roberto and his fellow revolutionaries dead, and he has a history of violent, anti-social behavior… a likely sociopath."

"That neatly sums him up, Jack," Marta agreed. "Papa would have been sixty-nine had he lived; he was twelve years younger than Juan. Any of the men that held power under Zapatero, contemporaries of Uncle Juan, would be in their seventies… many in their eighties now. I would think most of them would be more interested in protecting their comfortable hiding places, not reclaiming their lost power. Their sons and grandsons have built new lives among the idle and self-indulgent rich… here and in Europe. They have no interest in getting their hands dirty with actual work. Ernesto is the only one that occurs to me. My brother may have other ideas. Emily?"

"The only other name that has occurred to me… and I have to admit Ernesto is my first choice, is Geraldo Guzman y Escabar," she offered. "He was rumored to be Zapatero's son by one of his mistresses. I remember my mother-in-law making a remark that his mother must have been a favorite since her husband… one of Zapatero's senior ministers, didn't kill her for saddling him with her bastard. In a traditional society like the one that ruled Panador, being illegitimate would still be a big deal, but he may be able to use being the son of their fallen leader to his advantage. He inherited a lot of money when Zapatero died from what Roberto told me."

"His name is on my list, John. I dismissed him for the very reason Emily suggested… if he is Zapatero's son, he is illegitimate. Still, he bears investigation," she agreed. "There are actually three other names on my list that were also rumored to be his sons, but their mothers were peasant girls without social standing or money… Felipe Cortez, Manuel Silva, and Tomas Rodriguez. They would be followers hoping to regain some of their former standing even if it is in the second tier. Let me have the list, John, and I'll put a mark by their names."

Handing her the requested document, he pulled two more from the stack of papers in front of him. "These are the other lists you mentioned to me on the phone… the mid-level bureaucrats and names of guards and members of the death squads. What can you tell us about any of these men? Are the ones we need to focus on already on the list you made during your flight?"

Scanning the names, she frowned. "Most, but I forgot a few that might be involved… pr have information. I've never met most of these men. The ones I did interview have an asterisk next to their name. I looked for several of them extensively, but never found them. They were either dead or had assumed new identities that weren't known to my informants. Frankly, any of these men that you can find need to be investigated."

Pointing to one name, she suggested, "Carlos Diaz was one of my best sources. The last time I spoke with him he lived in Baltimore."

Trading a look with Emily, John noted, "That was the other name Emily found in the transcripts… the administrator from Zapatero's State Police. Do you know if he still lives in Baltimore?"

"I haven't talked to him since the book was finished, so I can't say," she replied.

"Well, I guess we're in luck to have a former detective from Baltimore's Murder Police," McCoy observed, a slight frown betraying his annoyance that Emily was obviously at ease with the detective. "I'm assuming there are still people down there that are willing to take your calls, Munch.

"Last I heard there are, Counselor… but then you tried a few cases there yourself, so we're in luck to have you as a back-up," John countered, irritated at the condescending tone of McCoy's voice.

Jumping in quickly to prevent the tension from escalating, Olivia asked, "How many names do we have between the three lists?"

"A little over two-hundred," Fin replied, scanning the lists. "Damn, it will take us a while to run them all down… assuming we can."

"I'll take the names from Baltimore and make a few calls in the morning to see if we can get some help going on those ASAP. Liv, you've already made contact with the folks in Miami, right?" John asked, focused on the task at hand.

"Yeah, I'll give them a follow-up call and give them these names and address," she agreed. "Elliot talked to someone at Atlanta Metro. Give me those and he can make that call."

"Great," Fin agreed. "I'll divide the ones from the New York area among the detectives Don rounded up and get them going on them. Mike Sandoval is out knocking on doors in the Panadoron neighborhoods… people he thinks may know something. I'll show him this list when he gets back to the house."

"It's after 10:30. You're not going to accomplish much more tonight. Why don't I take the ladies…" McCoy began, only to be interrupted by his cell phone. "McCoy."

After listening a few seconds to his caller, he replied, "Damn! I'm on my way."

"I have to go back to my office… a witness in a case set to begin on Monday has developed cold-feet," he complained. Rising to walk around the table to stand behind Emily, he smiled down at her. "I was hoping to take you and Marta to a late dinner. Can I have a rain-check?"

A gentle smile accompanied a nod, as Emily replied, "Of course, Jack. Belle and Paul will be here tomorrow and they would enjoy seeing you too. Give us a call and we'll make plans."

"Good." Looking up, McCoy demanded, "Arrangements have been made for a security escort for Emily and her family?"

Cragen's voice answered from the doorway. "I've seen to that personally, Counselor. With her approval, TARU swept her brownstone for bugs or other electronic devices. It was clear. They installed additional alarms on any window or door they felt was inadequately protected and the entire house was secured. There are police assigned to cover both the garden and the front of the house. All of them will have a security detail to accompany them wherever they go until this matter is settled."

Nodding, Jack gently squeezed Emily's shoulder. "Sounds like you're in good hands. I will talk with you both tomorrow."

After McCoy had left, Cragen asked, "Emily, I really wish you would reconsider my offer to have a couple of officers inside the house with you and your daughter."

Shaking her head, Emily began, "I would feel uncomfortable having strangers in my home, Don. Thank you, but…"

"What if Munch and I stay? You may not have known us long, but I think you know you can trust us," Fin inserted. "These are dangerous men, Emily. We'd all feel better to have someone close at hand if you need help. Might help you sleep better too."

"I don't want to put any more burdens on the two of you…"

"Elliot and I will trade out with them when they need to be elsewhere, Emily," Olivia offered. "Fin and Don are right."

"It's late," John observed, catching Emily's uncertain gaze. "Why don't we wrap up here for today? Fin and I can take a few of these files to work on at your place. Maybe we can pick-up some takeout on the way to your house."

"I don't want to keep you from your own life…"

"You won't since I would only go home with a stack of files and fall asleep on my couch," he insisted. "Fin would probably do the same."

"Both John and I are divorced, so there's no one home waiting on us, OK?" Fin added.

Smiling almost shyly, Emily relented. "Well, it you're both sure…"

Speaking for the first time, Marta proposed, "Does that Indian place down the street from you still deliver? I've been craving their lamb curry since I got off the plane."

"Craving?"

Laughing at the hopeful look her stepmother was giving her, Marta shook her head. "Talk to Paul and Belle! Three grands are all you're getting out of Andy and me! I just want some curry!"

-----


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 11

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. John/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Feedback appreciated!!!

Ghost, Chapter 11

-----

The sounds of disturbed sleep… low, frantic moans and strangled cries of pain… fear, gradually penetrated the uneasy slumber into which he had fallen. Blinking, Munch took a moment to orient himself to his unfamiliar surroundings. A slightly louder cry, followed by a strangled moan, caused him to look toward the closed door of the small brownstone's master bedroom.

Reaching for his glasses, Munch debated what, if anything, he should do as he settled them on his face. It didn't take him long to realize that Emily was in the midst of a nightmare… the source of her torment immediately obvious. Sighing, he rose from his makeshift bed and quietly walked over to her door. The moan and cries had stopped by the time he reached it, but something made him linger there, unwilling to return to his bed.

The sound of muffled sobs moved him to action. Tapping softly on the door, he quietly called, "Emily… its John. Are you all right?"

A long minute passed before he heard the sounds of movement behind the closed door. Said door slowly opened to reveal Emily, her face pale, her eyes swollen from crying, and a silk robe wrapped tightly around her shivering form. In a thick, broken voice, she whispered, "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to disturb you. Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

Studying her for a few seconds, Munch clearly saw the demons the past few days had reawakened in her mind. Knowing from personal experience that being alone would only allow her to dwell on them, he offered, "Want to talk? No apology is needed, by the way. The last few days have been rough and you lost a good friend. I'm a good listener… regardless of what Fin may say to the contrary."

"I'll be all right. Roberto was a good friend, so I guess it was a delayed reaction to not being able to grieve when I first learned what happened." Smiling wanly, she urged, "Go back to sleep, John. It's still early… hours until you have to get up."

Smiling in response to her attempt to put him at ease, he tried a different approach. "I was having trouble sleeping myself. I was thinking about taking you at your word about making myself to home by seeing if there is any herbal tea in the kitchen pantry. Care to join me for a cup? Might help both of us sleep."

As he had expected, Emily's focus immediately shifted from herself to taking care of someone else… him in this case. "I do… several types in fact. Do you have a preference? I have one I get at a shop in the Village that I find very soothing. It's a peppermint-chamomile mix."

"Sounds good," he agreed, following her into the kitchen. "Which tea shop? There are a couple in the Village that I go to when I want a special blend."

"My favorite is a little place called Teazers. It's down the street from Washington Square Park. They have some great blends," she replied, beginning to fill a kettle so that she could put the water on to boil. Opening the cabinet, she reached in for a tea tin. "I'm addicted to this mix and I have another I enjoy at breakfast… a green tea blend."

"I'm familiar with that place. I like their black tea blends," he commented, lifting a small cobalt blue teapot from a nearby shelf. Turning on the hot water tap, he held the pot under the flow to gently heat it. "I guess I tend to go for the higher octane teas for the day."

A soft smile banished some of the lines from her face as she admitted, "I have very little tolerance for the caffeine in black teas. It makes me jittery and nervous. Give me a cup and I start climbing the nearest wall. Coffee doesn't affect me in the same way. I tend to stick to herbals or green when I drink teas."

Smiling, he teased, "You grew up in the South. How did you manage to avoid the regional addiction to sweet iced tea? I thought it was mandatory for everybody to drink that stuff."

"Sure, add copious amounts of refined sugar to the caffeine! I could scale the Chrysler Building after a single glass!" she responded, sending him a slightly flirtatious grin.

Pleased to see a little color return to her features as they bantered, John played along. "I can see the headlines… 'Caffeine-crazed Beauty Headed for the Top!'"

A giggle preceded, "More like, 'Another Damned Southern Flips Out!'"

Grinning, he agreed. "You're probably right. If you're not from New York, you're automatically presumed to be less intelligent and cultured. I would imagine being from the South, you get red-necked racist tossed into the mix regularly."

A rueful smile greeted his comments. "I'll be the first to admit the South has more than its share of both, but not all of us deserve to be cast in that role. Hollywood perpetuates that image… do you ever see an intelligent, articulate, NORMAL Southerner? They're either a wacked-out redneck, clinging to a gun, a jug of moonshine, and a rebel flag sitting in front of a dilapidated mobile home or a boozed-up former beauty queen living in the faded glory of Tara and sleeping with every man that stumbles into her path."

Pouring the boiling water slowly over the tea leaves she had added to the pot Munch had prepared, she continued, "And what is it with those awful accents they routinely trot out? I've never heard anything like them! They are a mish-mash of over-done clichés! There isn't **a** southern accent any more than there is **a** New York accent. The accents are dying out anyway. Television is fostering a bland, sameness to our national culture, but what accents still exist are as unique to their area as a Bronx accent is to one from Upstate NY!"

Chuckling, John began to open cabinets near the sink in search of cups. Finding several mugs, he set two on the counter. "I seem to have stumbled onto a sore point. I heard yours and Mr. Branch's comment about southerners, but didn't realize how passionate you are about the topic."

"You're from Baltimore, John. Don't tell me you haven't had to deal with this attitude… and yes, I know Maryland was a border state and not part of the Confederacy," she retorted.

"I had family in the City, so I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up. My parents split up for several years, so Mother took us to live with my grandparents on the Lower East Side until they got back together." Accepting the plate with an assortment of cookies and small pastries from his hostess, John placed it on a small table under the kitchen's only window. "Most people assume I'm just another New Yorker, so I 'pass'. That's not to say I don't know what you mean. When they find out I was born and raised in Baltimore… Pikesville actually, some New Yorkers act differently toward me."

Looking up, he found her gaze focused on him. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

Pulling out a chair for her, John waited until she was seated before taking the chair across from her. "Don't apologize. I'm not upset by our conversation. My parents loved each other passionately, but they were too different to live together peacefully. That happens. Opposites may attract, but they seldom live together very well… something I learned the hard way."

Pouring him a mug of tea, Emily held his gaze for a moment before sliding over the cream and honey. "Fin said you're divorced."

"And then some," he hedged. "You never remarried?"

"No. I've never found a man I felt drawn to enough to let him past my defenses. I tend to keep people at arms length… even friends. If a man shows interest, I keep him even further away. That's not a recipe for finding a lover, let alone a husband," she admitted.

Mentally noting that she seemed to be letting him closer than arms length… and he knew she had to have noticed he was attracted to her, he decided to change the topic of conversation in case she hadn't and belatedly shoved him away. "So what is your area of study for your PhD?"

"City Planning. I worked as a planner for years… work I enjoyed. It paid the bills and kept a roof over our heads even if I didn't get rich." Reaching for a piece of cranberry-pecan biscotti, she added, "I've always wanted to get my PhD… maybe teach, so Marta finally convinced me to go back to school once Belle moved to California for Grad school. I'm glad she did. It was just the change I needed and I've enjoyed living in the city… for the most part."

"So… you had to struggle to support three children on a civil servant's salary. That must have been tough," he asked, curious to find out if she had control of any of the Molina money.

An amused grin met his words. "Is that a discrete way of asking if I have any money from my husband's family socked away, Detective?"

A faint hint of red colored his throat and cheeks that she had seen through his motives. "I… I'm sorry. I was just curious. I know the Molinas were one of the wealthiest families in Panador. It seems wrong that you had to struggle so much."

Tilting her head to study him, she reminded him, "Raising my children was a privilege, so I never minded the scrimping. In any case, a lot of that was my choice. Esteban deposited a sizable fortune in a New York bank to take care of his children… me, before he returned to Panador the last time. He made David Llewellyn the executor of the fund… he didn't think I was capable of managing the money properly I guess. He probably assumed I would skip out on the children taking the money. He never did understand that I loved them."

"You had to ask for money for… anything? Food, rent… clothing?" he demanded, irritated by the lack of respect her husband had afforded her.

"Basically… that's one of the reasons I never asked unless I had no choice. David wouldn't have made it difficult, but… When Paul reached his 25th birthday, the fund was turned over to him," she added. "Esteban also transferred the children's trust funds to banks outside the control of Zapatero's network…. added the rest of his personal fortune to them. My children all became very wealthy people on the day of their 25th birthday."

Stunned, John pressed, "He left you nothing outright?"

Shaking her head, she clarified, "I could have gotten money from the fund without any problem… David and Pamela were always urging me to accept more, but my pride kept me from using it for everyday things. I only tapped it if one of the children really needed something I couldn't afford. I used it to send them to the universities of their choice, though they could have all gotten full scholarships with their grades. I bought our house out of my paycheck… paid the monthly bills, put food on the table and clothes on their backs… even if they weren't the labels Esteban would have expected. Providing for them myself gave me a lot of satisfaction, John."

"Why didn't you..? Excuse me for prying," John apologized, "I have no right to know."

Staring out the window at the lights in a small neighborhood park across the street from her home, she surprised herself by answering. "I was very young and… naïve when I married my husband, John. I thought I was in love and that he loved me. It was all a romantic fantasy concocted out of smoke and mirrors."

Confused by her admissions… he had always assumed their marriage was based on a passionate love, John repeated, "'smoke and mirrors'?"

A sad, slightly bitter smile settled on her face. "Esteban married me to provide his children with American citizenship, not because he loved me. He may have found me an acceptable bed toy, but… He had me adopt the children in both countries as soon as the ink was dry on our marriage license. His only agenda was making sure they were safe and that his family couldn't mount a claim to get them back if he died. He expected me to do as I was told… by himself or David and not disrupt his plans."

Instinct took control of his actions. Reaching over to cover her hand, he murmured, "He was abusive?"

Shaking her head, she assured him, "No, Esteban was never violent. He had other ways of letting me know if I displeased him. Louisa was his wife, not me. He had never gotten over her death or that of their twin sons… the circumstances were so murky and it was, after all, less than two years since their death. It all seemed so romantic to me… I would be the one to heal his broken heart… but I was just a means to an end. Truthfully, he didn't think I was good enough to be a Molina any more than his brother or mother did."

A look he couldn't interpret slipped across her face. "Accepting his money would have made me feel like I was 'bought and paid for'. I had to earn our way… it helped me feel like I was needed and contributing… had worth. Paul transferred the rest of the original principle into my name once he had control of it… over $5 million, but I've given most of it away. He and David insisted I keep some of it as an 'emergency fund'. I whittle away at the balance every year… support causes dear to my heart. I plan to give it all away eventually. I could never use it for myself; it would be too… demeaning. My children bought this brownstone for me with their money… put it in my name. Since it meant a lot to them… was a gift from them, I accepted it."

"When did you learn Esteban's true motives for marrying you?" he asked, squeezing her limp hand in silent support.

Looking up to meet his gaze, she admitted, "I started to get an inkling not long after we were married. He confirmed my fears little by little by things he would say whenever he got angry with me for pushing or prying. I had few doubts left by the time he left me in New York. He…"

"He what, Emily?"

A tear ran down her cheek as she whispered, "When he saw me at the prison, he screamed at me that I was a fool… that he had made a mistake ever marrying someone as stupid and common as me. He said I had ruined his plans… failed to do my duty and take care of his children. That was the only reason he had lowered himself to marry me. That I was pregnant… she was tainted in his mind by my blood polluting the purity of his. They all laughed at me. I know that sounds insignificant given what was happening around me, but… they used his comments to taunt me until the day I was freed, especially the ones about my daughter."

The tears began to flow in earnest. "It's always haunted me that I lost my baby trying to save him. I should have stayed in New York. She would have been twenty-two had she lived. I named her Faith, but I never got to give her a proper burial. Her body was… disposed of by Juan. He liked to tell me he had tossed her into the garbage with the rest of the trash."

Worried by the lost, wounded look in her eyes, John rose and moved to her side. Kneeling, he pulled her limp body into his arms. "He was the fool, Emily. He didn't deserve a woman like you. His kids were lucky to have you as their mother. And, Faith is a lovely name. She must have been beautiful… like you."

A broken whimper, "My baby… my little girl…" tore at his heart. Within seconds, he found himself sitting on the floor with Emily held protectively in his lap. He knew there wasn't much he could say to help heal her wounds, but he silently vowed to offer her all the comfort he could muster.

-----

A shadow detached itself from the wall near the doorway to the kitchen. Marta Douglas moved silently back to the stairs that led to her second-floor bedroom. She had long suspected the reasons for her father's impulsive marriage to Emily Morgan. During those first years, she had taken her anger and pain out on the woman that had tried to befriend her. She had not realized how badly Emily had been hurt until she had moved to the US from Spain.

Emily had never before revealed the full depth of her private grief to her or anyone else. Marta had not been aware of how thoroughly her father had betrayed her stepmother and friend until that night. It was a bitter realization. As a mother, she understood his desire to see his children protected at any cost. As Emily's friend, she was appalled. That this woman had subsequently made the sacrifices she had for her younger brother and sister… herself, was even more significant given what she now knew.

Thinking back to those days after she had first arrived, Marta admitted to herself that she had come grudgingly, intent upon finding a way to take Paul and Belle away from Emily. Nothing had prepared her for the broken shadow that remained of the vibrant woman she had last seen in the doorway of her family home in Santa Isabel. Emily's life had hung by the barest of threads… the will to live an even thinner strand.

Her younger brother and sister had needed her, but so had Emily. Emily's family had been too overwhelmed and terrified to know what to do. In many ways, her decision to become a doctor had been born in those months. Emily had discovered her secret dream, one Marta had never dared express… her father would not have approved of his daughter having a profession. Weak as she had been, Emily had noticed and encouraged her to follow her calling. It had led her to the great loves of her life… her husband Andy, their children, medicine, and teaching. Her debt to Emily was indeed great.

A deep and abiding friendship had sprung to life between the two women in those months. Emily was Mom to her brother and sister, but her closest friend, save for her husband. Marta had made a vow of her own as she watched Emily struggle to recover and assume the role of caregiver for her adopted children. If she had any say in the matter, Marta had resolved never to let her stepmother be hurt again. She had been Emily's fiercest protector ever since.

It had been both a relief and a cause of new guilt that Emily had not let anyone near to her in the years that followed. There had been several men that had tried, Jack McCoy being the most recent, but she had kept them all at arms length. It had not been until tonight that she understood why… understood the depth of hurt she still carried in her heart.

It was a shock, therefore, to see the easy and intimate connection that had strung to life between her friend and John Munch. It had no precedent in Marta's memory. In less than a day, the man had found out secrets Emily had never shared with any of them, had been allowed to offer comfort and protection… had established an intellectual and emotional link that hinted at the possibility of a deep bond forming between the two. That John seemed as captivated by Emily as she did by him was insufficient reassurance to someone that had been the woman's only confidant for years. Marta needed to know more about the man before she would encourage them.

At the top of the stairs, she was startled to find that the other detective assigned to protect them awake and watching her from the doorway to the guest bedroom. She suspected he had heard the conversation in the kitchen and was just as uneasy with the situation as she was. "John Munch is a good man… and my best friend. I don't want to see him hurt either. She's wounded and needy. That doesn't give me a lot of hope she can hold up her end of a relationship… and we both know that's what's happening."

Marta held his gaze for several minutes, long past the point where she would have expected him to begin to shift uncomfortably. She was mildly surprised when he refused to relent and try to force a response. "I've never seen Emily respond to someone like she has to him. She just told him things she's never told me or anyone else that I know about. I had assumed them as facts, but…"

Forcing aside her private guilt over not sensing the full measure of the damage her father had inflected, she promised, "I'll be watching him. If he hurts her, he will regret it."

Nodding, Fin agreed. "If he hurts her, he will regret it more than you can imagine. John isn't the type not to. I'm his friend, so I'll be watching too. John's got his own wounds. I don't want to see him broken by this either."

"Then I guess we will both be keeping an eye on them. I hope neither one of us will have a reason to get involved. It is best if they handle this for themselves," she concluded.

"Yeah... our friendships with them don't give us the right to interfere. This is their play. We have to respect that and give them the chance to decide what THEY want," he added. "Can you do that, Dr. Douglas?"

"If he makes Emily happy… helps fill the emptiness in her, he'll have my support… and gratitude." Moving to her bedroom door, she concluded, "I expect the same from you."

"Done. Good night, Marta."

"Fin."

-----


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 12

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

A/N --- I'd really appreciate getting some feedback. Please!!!

-----

Ghosts, Chapter 12

"John Munch, as I live and breath! How the hell are you, Munchkin?"

Shaking his head at the greeting he was receiving from his former partner, John offered, "Working my ass off as usual. How's things for you, Det. Lewis?"

"That's Sgt. Lewis thank you very much! Some of us have ambition," Meldrick Lewis teased. "So, you actually expect me to believe you're working your ass off when we both know you got no ass… nada… zip?"

"I always wondered about you, Meldrick. You seem way too interested in my posterior for my peace of mind," Munch ripped back. "You change teams after I left from missing me so much? Go ahead and confess… I'll keep your secret."

"Hell, Munchkin, your scrawny ass holds not interest for me… or anybody else in Baltimore! You forgetting we all got to know more about you than any of us wanted at that 'art show'?" Lewis laughed. "Come to think of it though, Stan did seem to be impressed by the size of the piece of paper your lady friend used to restore your modesty. Maybe Stan lusted after you!"

"In my line of work, I see and hear some pretty horrible things, my friend," John quipped, "but that thought may rank as among the worst!"

"I hear that!" Chuckling, Lewis asked, "So, to what do I owe the honor of your call? Does the NYPD need us to bale their collective asses out again? I thought you were going to straighten things out up there."

"I have the NYPD well in hand, so worry not. I need a little help tracking down a couple of possible suspects in a case my partner and I are working. Our 'last knowns' are in Baltimore," Munch supplied. "If I fax you a few names, can you see what you can find out about them? One in particular, a Carlos Diaz, may be able to give us information on a series of murders here."

A pause preceded, "Carlos Diaz… dude a Panadoron with ties to that dictator that was overthrown twenty or so years back?"

"Sounds like our man. Why? Do you know him?" Munch asked, signaling Fin and Cragen he had something.

In a low voice that betrayed his lingering disquiet at the crime, Lewis offered, "We found Diaz earlier this year skinned alive. We've never found any clues to who the doers were. Three more killings just like that one fell in our lap over the next six weeks, then it all stopped."

Frowning, Munch asked, "Were the other vics all Panadoron?"

"He's the only one we've managed to ID. He had a tattoo on his chest… only skin left anywhere on his body." Drawing a deep breath, Lewis demanded, "What do you know about these men, John? Those killings were as bad as I've seen and you know what I've seen. I want the doers' heads on my trophy wall."

"I know what you mean. We've got three vics up here that sound like yours." Grabbing a cover sheet, he ordered, "Give me your fax number and I'll send you the list of names I have with Baltimore addresses. They're ten years old, but you may be able to ID the other vics from the list. Can you send me the autopsy reports on them so I can have our ME compare them to ours?"

"Yeah, I can do that, but… John, this may be bigger than either of us realized when we started this conversation. Until you called, we were thinking this was a local matter, possible drug turf war, but…" Lewis began.

"But what, Meldrick? I don't follow what you're talking about. What's a drug war got to do with this?" John interjected, holding up his hand to halt the questions Fin and Don were wanting him to ask.

"Brass just established a task force to investigate the murder of eleven Panadorons in the last two years. That number may go up if we find others that were originally dismissed as accidents or overdoses… and we think we will," Lewis confided. "I hadn't even thought to link Diaz to those killings. We have been assuming his death was the work of a serial killer that gets off on the rape and torture of men. Our task force is still flying low to avoid a lot of publicity and panic in our Panadoron community. If you've got anything…"

"The four men that were flayed… were they also castrated and…"

"Their cocks stuffed down their throats," Lewis completed.

"Damn!"

"What do you know, John? This is big isn't it?"

Taking a deep breath, John asked, "How soon can you get up here, Meldrick? If my instincts are right, we're about to find more bodies in other places. What I can share is best done in person."

"Kay and I'll be there by late afternoon. I'll find money in the budget for plane tickets this once," Meldrick replied. "Send me that list and I'll get our guys looking to see if we can ID our other flaying vics… see if they are Panadoron."

"Give me your fax number and the list will be in your hands in five. Otherwise, let me know the where/when of your flight and I'll have someone meet you."

-----

Ed Green paused at the doorway in the SVU squadroom. Spotting Fin Tutuola at a desk in the middle of the room, he moved quickly in his direction. "Fin… got a sec?"

Rising to shake the hand extended to him, Fin pointed to a chair next to his desk. "About that, but not a lot more. What can I do for you?"

"It's more what I can do for you. My partner and I caught a case yesterday… lady named Nina Vasquez," Green began. "She's Pandoron. I understand you and Munch are looking for other deaths of Panadorons."

"Right." Grabbing a pad, Fin began to jot down notes. "What can you tell me about the vic?"

"She worked as a cleaning lady for a family on the Upper West Side. We found her with her throat slashed in the living room of her employers' condo. Their names are David and Bianca Cortez. They own a place off Columbus Ave," Ed reported. "No signs of a struggle or an assault. Anders, the AME, told me he doubts she knew what hit her."

"Did she or her family have any connection to the Zapatero regime that used to run Panador," Fin asked.

Looking up from his notes, Green nodded his head. "Indirectly… Mrs. Vasquez and her husband, Jorge, worked as domestics for a Panadoron doctor and his family. Husband told us the doctor sent them to this country in the months prior to the revolution with his wife and their only child, Bianca. The doctor died in prison a year later; he opposed the government and was arrested before Zapatero fell."

"So, they worked for someone involved in the revolution against Zapatero?"

"From what he could tell us, yeah," Green agreed.

"What did Mrs. Cortez tell you about the murder?" Fin pressed.

"Nothing. It looks like the family left in a big hurry… David and Bianca Cortez and their daughters, Alejandra, age 12 and Ramona, age 7. Their condo was tossed… or they left a mess for the cleaning lady," Ed offered. "Mr. Valdez said he'd heard rumors that someone was killing Panadorons that opposed Zapatero. David Cortez is rumored to be the old man's grandson… inherited enough money to get through med school. Valdez says Cortez fought with the revolutionaries and is estranged from his family. If they think he betrayed his grandfather…"

"He's on their hit list," Fin concluded.

"There was a message on their voicemail. It said… 'D_avid… you and your family need to get out of town fast. They're after you. They killed Roberto and Tomás. They will be looking for you next._'" Looking up, Green concluded, "Call came from a pay phone in Spanish Harlem on Sunday morning. It was a dead-end. CSU has the tape in case we need to run a voice match."

Nodding, Fin replied, "Seems you and Fontana are working the same case as we are. Cragen and the COD are forming a task force on this. You might want to talk to your lieutenant about coming on board."

Nodding, Green pulled out his cell phone. "I'll give her a call."

-----

"Let's tally this up. We have four torture killings in Baltimore, two in Atlanta, six in Miami, and one in DC that match the details of our three?" Branch demanded. "That is in addition to over twenty deaths of Panadorons over the last two years in Baltimore and Miami. Atlanta and DC are looking to see if they have a pattern too. Is that a fair summation?"

"That's a lot of what we know as of now," Munch agreed, adding, "It also looks like the killing of the cleaning woman yesterday may fit the pattern of the random killings. Ed?"

"We're still investigating, but a message on the voicemail may link her death to Fonseca's. It looks like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time… that our perps were looking for her employers, the Cortez family," Green inserted. "We're still trying to locate them… they're either on the run or the next vics we've yet to find."

"Both Philly and Boston report a half-dozen killings of Panadorons that they are investigating, but none were tortured. They haven't had any cases that fit that profile," Elliot added. "I spoke with Garza at the FBI and they have a few reports from other cities and counties… mostly on the eastern seaboard, but a few out west, that might be tied to ours. Only one was a torture killing that fits our MO… in Houston four months ago; the rest were shootings or knifings… a few suspicious deaths previously tagged 'accidental'."

"Interpol is telling me the same thing… numerous killings in Central and South America, the Caribbean, and Spain. Barcelona is emailing me the reports on the men that were killed after Juan Molina's execution. Ernesto Molina was their prime suspect, but he fled to Brazil before they could arrest him," Olivia offered. "We can expect a visit from Interpol later this morning."

"Damn! How did something this widespread get missed for so long?" Branch demanded, leaning back in his chair. "Do these guys have a real shot at overthrowing the government of Panador?"

"Emily says her friends inside Panador aren't too worried yet… at least that's what they told her, but this may be bigger than they know," Olivia observed. "If Ernesto Molina is behind this, he has a large fortune at his disposal and was Zapatero's presumed heir."

"As for the scale of the killings, no one saw the big picture until we started tracing leads from Marta Douglas's research notes," Cragen offered. "Most of these deaths appeared to be random killings disguised as muggings or domestic disputes. Baltimore picked up on the pattern, but thought it was a local drug war until John called. The torture killings began the first part of this year and were scattered over a wide geographic area. Only a couple of the torture vics have been ID'ed. A Panadoron connection wasn't made until we ID'ed Father Roberto from Emily's report."

Munch picked up the narrative. "We are reinvestigating to see if we missed other clues like his tattoo that will allow us to ID the others. They left his tat and the one on the vic in Baltimore on purpose; both unique enough that many people could ID them. It that's the case, the perps were sending a message with both. What that message is, we don't yet know. We're hoping for help from the Panadoron officials that are arriving later today, but I'm not too optimistic they will tell us what we need. We may need help from State on this."

"I've talked with several folks in DC and they are already making requests for information. The news they have a death in their area will motivate them I'm sure," Branch offered.

"Capt. Cragen assigned two detectives to work with me and my partner to scour NYPD records for all deaths of Panadoron in the last three years. We should have that report by this afternoon," Ed Green reported. "Looks like we have more than a few that might fit."

Fin picked up the report by offering, "Det. Sandoval is back in the Panadoron communities this morning interviewing as many people as he can find willing to talk to him. He's talking to Jorge Valdez, the husband of Green and Fontana's vic, this morning for anything more he can tell us about David and Bianca Cortez. Need to add Mike says the mood is getting ugly out there. He's worried there may be widespread panic in the Panadoron neighborhoods if we don't find these guys soon."

"I've spoken with the Commissioner and we have anticipated that. We are increasing the number of daytime patrols in these neighborhoods and will double the number at night. We're setting up a hotline to accept confidential calls and will make the announcement at a news conference this afternoon. I know the Commissioner has already spoken with you about this, Arthur, and is coordinating the logistics with your staff," Phil Samuels, the Chief of Detectives promised.

"Yeah, we spoke first thing this morning. Jack and I'll be there along with Capt. Cragen and your staff, Phil. Hopefully, we can calm some of their fears. It's not enough, but it's what we can offer until we get these bastards," Branch replied. "Has the FBI served their arrest warrant on Juarez yet? You need to talk to him A'sap."

"No sir. The address Dr. Douglas had was ten years old and he moved several years ago. They are tracking him, but no one knows how long that will take," Cragen answered. "We're still looking for most of the men named on Dr. Douglas's lists, but the few we've found aren't taking. We've already found two of them in the morgue."

"Summarize your working theories of the crime. What do we know to a reasonable level of certainty? Do we have proof Ernesto Molina is behind all of this killing?" Jack McCoy asked, having been listening to the reports in silence since his arrival.

All eyes turned to Munch and Tutuola. The pair silently communicated, dividing the report between them. Fin spoke first. "We suspect most of the killings were for revenge… men that either were part of the revolution or that our perps feel betrayed their cause. We think the perps are trying to make a statement… maybe spread fear in the Panadoron communities here and back home. That's bound to play in their favor and help break any resistance when they do make their move to take over the island."

"The tortures appear to employ some of the favored methods of the inquisitionors that served Zapatero's regime. This makes the Panadoron connection all the more certain. The flaying, rapes… castration with the severed penis stuffed down the victim's throat were unique to that regime," Munch began. "We know that Esteban Molina was tortured and died in the same manner as our vics."

George Huang interjected, "This suggests the perps singled these men out for this 'special' treatment… perhaps to suffer for their supposed crimes before they died. The sadosexual aspects of the killing may have been intended to emasculate the victim and humiliate him before the Panadoron community as much as for information. The same for the rapes. Homosexual sex is still a serious taboo in most Latin communities, so being sodomized would be deeply humiliating in addition to the pain they suffered in the brutal attacks."

Nodding, John added, "That was the widely held belief among the Panadoron people before the revolution. Their torture practices were fairly well known. Until Emily Molina, no one walked out of their prisons to tell anyone what was happening; therefore, it's likely the Zapatero supporters spread the rumors to keep people in line. Personally, I think they were just sick fucks that got off on rape and torture. In any case, we can tie the method of torture of our vics to those that caused Esteban Molina's death."

"Now how the hell do you know that's how Molina died, much less that opinion of the populous during that time frame, Munch? His body has never been found and no one there ever talked, including Juan Molina," McCoy demanded. "Were you there?"

Freezing his features to prevent betraying his irritation with the man, John nodded. "I was in Panador the fall of 1986 taking part in the protests demanding Emily Molina's release. I was there the day Emily faced down the guns at the gates of that hell hole and I watched her walk free. I heard the rifles being cocked… the nervous orders from the commanders on the ground and surrounding buildings telling their men to wait for orders from Zapatero himself before they opened fire on her… us. I witnessed the celebrations that broke out as she walked out into the crowd… the first person to ever come out of there alive. "

"Zapatero's days were numbered the moment she took the risk of breaking away from her guards so that she could be seen by the crowd… not shuffled out the back way unseen by anyone." Leaning forward to hold Jack's gaze, he continued. "She knew they planned to continue to claim she was never their prisoner once she was on a plane home. When she walked out into the open, that act defeated any spin his people might have attempted. The world knew he had lied and Panador knew he could be beaten."

Settling back into his chair, John concluded, "I talked to people, both before and after her release, and that's what they told me. I saw what it meant… I saw a revolution catch fire and I remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday. Anything else, counselor?"

"You were there?" McCoy repeated, suddenly understanding part of the reason Emily felt so comfortable with the other man. Munch had been there and put his life on the line for her.

"Yes."

"And your superiors in the Baltimore PD knew this?" Samuels demanded, oblivious to the hostile undercurrent running between the two other men.

"My commander knew… Gee approved. Told me he wished he could go with me," Munch confirmed. "Al Giardello was a great cop, a fine man… and always in trouble with the brass. I guess I didn't help that part much, but he approved my going. I'd have gone anyway, but it was nice to have his letter of approval in my personnel file before I left."

Chuckling in hopes of breaking the tension, Cragen joked, "I feel his pain over you, John. Good thing you're one of the best cops I've ever known. Wish I'd met him; I'm sure we could have spent hours comparing stories."

"Giardello was a good man," McCoy agreed, leaning back into his chair. "I wish I had gone down, but my boss wasn't so understanding. Adam had visions of me ending up in one of those dungeon cells. Told me he would be too tempted to leave me there."

Smiling slightly, John nodded. "Gee warned me I'd have to dig my way out if I landed in jail. He didn't deny my theory that it was all part of a conspiracy to get rid of me."

Smiling slightly, McCoy agreed. "Sounds like him. Good thing you managed to keep your mouth shout long enough to get back in one piece."

Sensing the unspoken hostility between the two had somehow been settled… at least for the moment, Branch turned them back to the main discussion. "How do you know Esteban Molina was killed in the same manner as our victims?"

Hesitating, John simply offered, "An eyewitness report."

"I've read the reports. Emily and her children are close friends, so I took an interest in the details. None of his captors would talk…" Stunned as the only other explanation hit him, Branch leaned forward. "Emily was there… saw…?"

After a moment's silence, John finally nodded.

"Dear God! How did you find that out?" McCoy demanded.

"That's how she knew Juarez was present when her husband died… the official justification for the warrant the FBI is executing. He knew details only someone that was there could know… including that she was present. That was a little known fact and she brought it to my attention," John replied, his voice unnaturally subdued. "I… she won't want many people to know this. It devastated her to tell me about what happened. Please don't make her relive it again."

"You made her relive…?"

"It wasn't like that, Jack," Cragen inserted. "Olivia and I were escorting the FBI agents in to meet them when we overheard their conversation. I suspect it was something she has never told anyone… a wound she needed to purge. John just listened and let her get it out; he didn't force her to tell him anything."

"What else…" Branch began.

"If it's necessary for the case, we'll tell you, but until then, it would be wrong for us to betray her like that," Cragen insisted. "Emily deserves better. The fact that she was there supports the warrant, but the rest… that's another matter."

-----


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 13

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. John/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

Feedback appreciated.

Ghosts, Chapter 13

Mike Sandoval watched the reunion between the men he had met at the airport and the small family waiting for them at the 16th precinct. Leaning over to whisper to Fin, he asked, "That's really Emily Molina? She keeps a low profile, so there haven't been many pictures of her since she got back to the states. She's been a hero of mine since I was a kid."

"Yeah, that's her, but go easy on the hero worship, OK?" Fin urged, having anticipated his friend's reaction. "She's carrying around a lot of guilt over other kids that decided to fight Zapatero after they saw her walk out of that jail… especially the ones that died wearing t-shirts with her picture on them."

Surprised by the comment, Mike looked back to meet the other detective's eyes. "I… hadn't thought about that. Thanks for the warning. I'll let the other Panadoron officers know. They want to meet her too, but none of us wants to hurt or embarrass her with unwanted attention."

Nodding, Fin went back to reading the report Sandoval had just given him.   
"I'll give you an intro in a few, but let them talk to Father Roberto's sons first. He meant a lot to her… saved her life with those pictures he smuggled out, so she's taking his death hard."

"Thanks." Pausing for a moment, Mike asked, "Is that her step-daughter?"

Ignoring the desire to turn and look, Fin simply answered, "Both ladies… Dr. Marta Douglas and Isabella Molina. The man standing beside her is her son, Paul Molina."

"Isabella is the younger one? Damn, she's gorgeous! I wonder if she's seeing anyone?" Sandoval asked, his eyes fixed on the woman in question.

"None of your business, Detective. Stop ogling her and get back to work. People dying here," Fin ordered, irritated by the younger man's interest in Isabella Molina.

Frowning, Sandoval shifted his gaze back to Fin. "What's your problem? Don't tell me you haven't noticed she's a babe?"

"I'm not blind! 'course I noticed, but I also noticed she's here to help us find the men that killed a family friend and threaten to kill more if we don't do our job," he bit out, unsure why Sandoval's interest in Isabella Molina was bothering him so much. "This isn't a dating service, so focus. From your report, I take it the word is Ernesto Molina is behind these killings?"

Sighing, Sandoval dropped down into the chair beside Tutuola's desk. "Yeah. He's apparently been freely spreading both money and threats throughout the Panadoron communities for three years now, here and in other cities. Rumor has it he's been gathering a following since his father was executed in '96... still small, but a loyal core of trained killers. I heard from more than one source that he's financing the whole thing and plans to try and overthrow the Panadoron government… set himself up as their new dictator."

"Dr. Douglas says he inherited most of his father's fortune since his older brother died in the revolution," Fin offered, hoping to ease the strain between them caused by his comments about Mike's reaction to Isabella. "We need to find out just how big a fortune that is."

"He may have access to more than his personal fortune. His name has come up in several major drug busts over the last few years as the man behind the shipments. He may be supplementing his fortune with drug money," Mike proposed. "I'll talk to some of the guys in my unit and see what they can tell us about his drug connections. If he's found a way into the South American drug cartels, he's got access to virtually unlimited resources."

Walking up in time to hear the last, Olivia mused, "From what Munch's contacts told him, Baltimore thinks some of the killings there may be linked to a turf war between Panadoron and Dominican dealers, so you may be on to something. We need to consider the possibility Molina may be working with the cartels… maybe offering to let them use Panador as a pipeline for their shipments in exchange for their help in staging a coup d'état. If he has that kind of backing, Molina's group may be in a better position to threaten the Panadoron government than they realize."

"Serious shit for all concerned if that's the case," Fin agreed. "We need to find out how he fits into that world… how his name came up in those cases ASAP, Mike. If he's been making himself a place in the drug world, might explain why he's waited so long after his father's execution to try to get revenge… overthrow the Panadoron government. That's almost ten years we need to track."

"I'll get on it right away… talk to my crew and maybe make a few calls to a couple of DEA agents that I trust," Mike replied. "We may know more by later today… tomorrow for sure."

"I'll make a few calls myself… go see a few connections I keep viable," Fin added. "We need this info yesterday."

"What info?" Munch asked, as he and Cragen walked up. They had left Emily and her children to talk in private for a moment with Fonseca's sons.

After getting an update, John observed, "If we hit walls pursuing this line of investigation, Cap, you may have to get us some help in cutting through the bureaucratic bullshit so we can get some answers. We don't have time to play nice."

"John's right. I want to hear what you find ASAP," Cragen agreed. "The COD is riding me hard on this, so I'll let him use his weight to get us what we need if it comes to that. Better if we can get the info ourselves thought. It would call less attention to our investigation."

"Be nice to know if the narcs in other cities have seen this pattern," Fin added. "Do you trust Lewis and Howard to be discrete enough to see if Baltimore has anything about Molina?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll pull them aside when they get here and get them to inquire under the radar. We need to know if Molina has access to more than a small group of killers," John declared. "The cartels have a small army and they are as ruthless as they come. That means Molina may have access to their killers too."

Nodding, Olivia asked, "Is Molina here in the city or is he still in Rio, Mike?"

Watching as their visitors disappeared into one of the interrogation rooms, Mike offered, "Again rumor… but the word is he takes part in the torture killings. My uncle has heard from a number of sources he has a secure compound somewhere in the New York area… maybe out on Long Island. Uncle Miguel says the rest of the killings are the handiwork of his followers, but he's heard Molina likes to get 'hands-on' when there is torture involved. He's one sick bastard from everything I've uncovered."

"That is what Emily and her children have all said," John agreed.

"Fin… John, you ready to join us in the interrogation room to talk to our guests from Panador?" Cragen inquired, rising from the chair he had commandeered for their talk.

"Liv, Casey may join us. Can you let her know where we are?" Fin asked, rising to follow Cragen and Munch into the interrogation room.

"Sure. Good luck with them."

-----

"Gentlemen… we appreciate your time. Let us get right down to business as I'm sure you want to make the arrangements for returning Father Roberto to Panador for burial," Cragen began. "I believe you've met both Det. Munch and Det. Tutuola. They are lead investigators on this case."

Nodding, Jesus Reyes replied. "They introduced themselves when we arrived. We appreciate your giving us a few minutes to speak with the Molinas in private before we begin this unpleasant business. Emily and her children are dear to us and we are relieved to find them safe and well, if deeply grieved by our loss."

"We understand this is a difficult time for all of you… but we need your help in putting an end to the violence that seems to be spinning out from the murders we have previously discussed with you," Cragen added.

Trading a look with Roberto and Miguel Fonseca, Reyes asked, "To what do you refer, Capt. Cragen?"

"Let's not waste a lot of time dancing around this, Detective. We know you are aware of the string of crimes carried out by members of a cell of counter-revolutionaries that would like to return Panador to a dictatorship," Cragen stated. "We've started putting that string together and it's more than a few random crimes. We have links to over fifty murders, dozens of disappearances, and the possible involvement of our chief suspect in large-scale drug trafficking. If Ernesto Molina has crawled into bed with the South American drug cartels, the he has access to money and a small army to aid his ambitions. Help us fill in the details and we'll both catch up a lot of lost ground… maybe have time to stop him. Play this too close to the vest and we will have more bodies… a possible revolution on our hands."

The room fell into an unnatural silence. The entry of Casey Novak failed to break the tension. Cragen quickly updated her on their conversation.

After a renewed silence, Paul Molina finally asked, "You are sure of this… this string of crimes?"

"You had to have noticed the mob scene out there," Fin began. "We've got reps from two other major cities, the FBI, Interpol, and more on the way. They all want to talk to you folks. In addition to the three men tortured and killed in New York, Miami has six, Baltimore has another four, Atlanta two, and DC and Houston one each…. all just like ours. Interpol has seven others."

"That doesn't include the other murders that are in double digits in some of those cities, all Panadorons," John continued. "Captain Cragen was being conservative when he said over fifty. My tally is over one-hundred… beginning with the Spanish officials murdered after Juan Molina was executed in '96."

"And the drug angle?" Marta pressed, reaching over to take Emily's hand.

Looking her way, John admitted, "We're still running that down, but your cousin's name has turned up in several drug cases over the last few years. Baltimore was already investigating the non-torture killings as part of a possible drug turf war. They didn't connect the four torture killings they had earlier this year to those until I called. They thought that was a separate serial killer since they have ID'ed only one of their four victims."

They had to strain to hear Emily's soft question. "Who… their victim?"

"Carlos Diaz."

A gasp preceded Marta Douglas', "Is this because he spoke to me for my book?"

Shaking his head, Reyes offered, "I greatly doubt that, Marta. Diaz gave us many of the names and addresses we used to find the men we brought to justice… claimed to be happy to do his part. We let him remain free thinking we might need him again, but he was clumsy and let his enemies find him. I personally warned him he needed to be more discrete, but… I had not heard he was dead, but I am hardly surprised at the news."

"And you sent our father to try and track these killers with no help or protection?" Fonseca's older son, Roberto, demanded, his outrage clear.

"I argued with your father about that myself, 'Berto," Emily whispered. "I tried… but he thought he could get further going alone using his reputation and his collar… his words. If Ernesto has the help of the drug cartels, he would have been at danger from a lot more than just Zapatero's followers. He might not have known that."

"He… we didn't know that to be a fact, but it makes sense of what our men uncovered," Reyes admitted. "We have heard rumors, but had no proof. There are many 'urban legends' building up around Ernesto's name in Panador. How do we know what it real and what is myth spread to scare our peoples?"

"You are going to have to trust us. We need to sift though these stories and see what we can prove. As a starting point, your other men… how many are you missing? We need to find the others and…" Cragen began.

"They have all fallen silent. I spoke to one of our contacts on Sunday, but have not been able to reach him or his wife since," Reyes admitted, raking a nervous hand through his hair. "The others… some I have not been able to find in months. Roberto was sure two of them died in Miami. Your report of a death in Houston… I suspect the other two men in your morgue are our men. I brought DNA swabs from the children of those we are missing to see if we can confirm their deaths, here or elsewhere."

"The one you spoke to Sunday… his name's not Cortez is it?" Fin demanded.

"Yes… how?"

"We found his housekeeper murdered yesterday, the family gone," Fin replied. "We don't know if they are on the run… or the next vics we've yet to find."

"_¡Dios mío_!_" _

"Let me have those swabs and I'll get our Medical Examiner working on the ID's," Cragen requested. "After that, we need to have you give us all you have. We'll do the same… bring in the folks waiting outside in to talk to you. Our only priority at this time is to find Ernesto Molina before any more bodies turn up. Agreed?"

-----

"Damn, John! What type of circus are you running here?"

Turning to greet Kay Howard and Meldrick Lewis, Munch growled, "More like a freaking family feud! We've got reps from Panador, Boston and DC, besides New York and Baltimore… the goddamned FBI, Interpol… and more on the way. And everybody is trying to take over the operation."

"You always did know how to throw a party, Johnny boy!" the female detective teased, amused by the bedlam surrounding her friend.

"Please be gentle with me, Kay! I've had a hell of a day and its no over yet!" Pulling her into a quick hug, he added, "I've missed you beautiful!"

Returning the hug, she complained, "But you left us for the glitter of the Great White Way. You told us you needed a bigger stage… the bright lights!"

"Munch had aspirations of going on the stage? Tell me he wasn't planning to sing? I've heard him and it wasn't pretty," Fin inserted, slipping up on the reunion.

"I'll have you know I rock with Yiddish rap!" John countered, striking a pose.

"Yeah… 'he can't sing, he can't dance… my Jew is a smart ass'!" Fin retorted, smirking at the two other detectives as they began to laugh.

"'my Jew'??? I think we've had a discussion about your use of that phrase, Detective, so keep it up and I'll be rapping with my union rep!" John chuckled. "Det. Odafin Tutuola … Sgt. Kay Howard and Sgt. Meldrick Lewis, two of Baltimore's finest. Fin's my partner… until he leaves to follow his true calling to become the founder of Cop Rap."

Grinning, Kay took Fin's hand. "Glad to see someone is keeping Munchkin on his toes."

"Full time job, but the Cap still expects me to solve a few cases in the mix," Fin joked. "Glad to meet you Kay… Meldrick. John talks about his days in Baltimore ALL the time, so I feel I know you already."

"John talks??? Imagine that!" Meldrick teased, shaking the offered hand. "He was so quiet when he worked with us!"

"I'm standing right here! At least have the decency to wait until I leave to attack my character," John quipped, relieved to have a moment's frivolity to lighten the mood of the squadroom. "Come on and I'll introduce you to our Captain, then bring you up to speed on what we know so far. There are some people you need to meet."

-----


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Ghosts, Chapter 14

Author: Sorsha711  
Pairing: Munch/OFC, others implied  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!  
Summary: A woman with a tragic past holds the keys to solving a series of brutal killings. Munch/OFC; Fin/OFC; pre-O/E

A/N --- I have to admit, I'm getting a little discouraged by the lack of response to my stories. I'd really appreciate some feedback… PLEASE!!!

-----

Ghosts, Chapter 14

Unable to offer much to the debate raging in the brownstone's living room about the current music scene in New York, John slipped out and walked into the kitchen. As he had secretly been hoping, he found Emily alone… staring out a window at the small park across from her home. He paused for a moment at the door, unwilling to interrupt her moment of silent reflection.

Hearing him enter the room, she looked over her shoulder to see who it was. A soft smile lit her beautiful face. "Hi. Not able to add much to a discussion on Hip Hop either?"

"Not much. I'm more a Jazz/Classic Rock kind of guy," John agreed, moving to stand near her. "How about you?"

"Something else we have in common," she offered, pleased he had joined her.

Part of her was surprised by how at ease she was with him… how much she enjoyed having John near. It had been a long time since she had been comfortable being alone with any man other than Paul and her father. As much as she had loved and trusted Roberto, she had never been able to fully relax when he visited. Her reserved confused most mean, Jack McCoy being the latest.

She had only known John Munch for a little over a day, but she already craved his company. "Care to join me for a cup of tea or a glass of wine? We can take it to the den and turn on something mellow. I could use a little peace and quiet after the day we've had."

"A glass of wine sounds good," John replied, relieved by the obvious fact Emily seemed to want his company. Much as it worried him, he knew Fin was right; he was falling for her… hard. "You have a den?"

A mischievous grin spread over her features. "Closet… den… 'a rose by any other name', detective!"

Returning her grin, he demanded, "OK, I give. What rose are you talking about?"

Moving toward the cabinets, she removed two wine glasses. "There was a large storage closet under the stairs that I didn't need, so I converted it into my private sanctuary. Belle wanted to expand the next-door powder room and make it a full spa bath, but I wanted a cozy place to work. We compromised and I gave up a small guest bedroom next to hers so she could have that for her spa."

"A spa?"

"Yes, so be nice to her and she may let you use it," Emily suggested, still grinning. "She installed a steam shower and a huge tub with jets. That's where Marta disappeared to a few minutes ago. We won't see her again for the rest of the night!"

Smiling, John admitted, "I wish I'd known and I might have given her a fight for it. I'll make a point of getting on Belle's good side. My co-op only has a small shower, so a real bath is a luxury. Did you do a lot of renovation when you moved in here?"

"I have a pretty good Pinot Noir and a Riesling already open… and there is a very nice Chenin Blanc chilling if you prefer," she offered, looking in her refrigerator. "Paul insisted on having a lot of work done to make it suit my needs. Feel free to use the tub in my bath. It's a lot smaller… a Japanese style soaker tub. That was all we could find to fit the space we carved out for the bath, but it's still pretty nice after a long day."

"Watch out… I may take you up on that!"

"Please do! I want you and Fin to feel at home here," she insisted. "If you'd rather…"

"Maybe later. I'd rather have a glass of wine and unwind with you. Choose the wine you want and it will be fine with me," John replied, already anticipating having her all to himself. Looking around, he added, "This looks like a new kitchen."

"It is," she admitted, pulling the cork out of the bottle of the Pinot Noir. "I love to cook, so Paul had it updated and added a lot of extra cabinets for me. He also had them convert the original den into my bedroom suite. With my back problems, he knows I sometimes have trouble with stairs and he wanted me to have my all living space on one level."

After pouring two glasses of wine, she began to rummage in the refrigerator for cheese and fruit. A small tray of snacks soon joined the wine on the counter. "If you'll carry our wine, I'll bring the rest."

Stepping out of the side entrance to the kitchen, Emily led the way to a door under the stairs. Inside was a small, cozy room. Built-ins under the stairs provided cabinet space, as well as, a small work area for her computer. A flat-screen TV hung on one wall and an impressive collection of music… records, cassettes, and CD's, surrounded her audio equipment. Books were crammed into every available nook and cranny. Two comfortable club chairs with ottomans flanked a fireplace that dominated the exterior wall along with two small windows. The elegant, yet comfortable room fit very nicely with his impressions of the lady that occupied it.

Like a magnet, her music collection drew his immediate attention. Seeing her place the tray of snacks on a small table between the two chairs before turning on the gas logs, John waited for her to seat herself before handing her one of the glasses of wine. Taking her "you choose" seriously, John began to shift through the albums.

Finding a couple that fit her 'something mellow' guidelines, John popped them on the turntable before taking his seat. After savoring a sip of his wine, he admitted, "I could spend hours going though your collection. I've already found a couple I've been trying to find for ages."

"There's a CD recorder hooked up to the turn-table. Feel free to make copies of anything you want," she offered, pleased by his reaction to her haven. "Some of them are albums I 'borrowed' from my father. A few were Esteban's that Roberto found in our old house after the revolution… but most are ones I've found over the years searching through second-hand shops. Marta's husband Andy shares my passion for blues and jazz, so we trade copies with each other whenever one of us scores a find."

Pausing to sip from her own glass, Emily continued, "Some of my rarer ones came from David Llewellyn. He gave me most of his collection when I moved in here. It breaks my heart that he's very dearly deaf these days… so sad for someone that loves music so passionately. Pamela isn't much of a music lover, so she encouraged him to give them to me. He said it made him feel better knowing they were in the hands of someone that would appreciate them like he did. Be sure to look through them."

"Thanks, I will." Trying to look causal, John proposed, "I have a pretty good collection too. You need to sort through what I have and see if you want to copy anything. I have most of my Dad's collection and have been adding my own since I was a teenager."

Blushing slightly at his subtle hint that he would like to continue seeing her once this case was resolved… or at least she hoped that was what he was implying, Emily nodded, "I'd enjoy that… once things settle down."

Relieved by her response, John pressed a little further to see what else they had in common. "Looking at the titles of your books and DVD's, we also seem to share a taste for mysteries and science fiction."

Curling comfortably into her chair, Emily positioned herself so that she was facing him. "Who's your favorite…"

-----

"What's going on? Has Fin already gone to bed?"

Belle and Paul turned to face their older sister, a serious frown on both their faces. "He went to check the patrols outside. I made a pot of coffee and he went to refill their thermos," Belle replied.

"So… why the serious looks? That doesn't seem to be enough to have upset you two," Marta observed.

"Mom… she's in her den with the other detective," Paul began.

"She never invites strangers into her private space," Belle added. "She doesn't even let Jack in there and they're dating."

"Dating? I don't think so, sweetie," Marta corrected, determined to correct Belle's wishful thinking. Her sister had decided that Jack McCoy was a prefer match for her stepmother and had been less than subtle in championing his suit. "Jack would like for there to be something between them, but Emi not interested in him as more than a friend. They aren't dating and never have… or will. Jack is going to have to accept that and stop pushing her. If he pushes too hard, he'll loose her friendship too."

"Are you saying she is interested in this Munch character?" Paul demanded. "He's all wrong for her. Hell, he's only a cop. She can do a lot better…"

A noise behind them made them all turn. The angry look on Fin's face caught them all off guard. "I took the coffee out to the rest of the help, Ms. Molina. If it's all the same, I'll call it a night. Got to be fresh tomorrow, so John and I can take care of our betters."

"My brother is an arrogant jerk some days, Fin," Marta offered, embarrassed by her brother's remarks. "I hope you realize that beyond making an ass of himself, he didn't express the opinion of my sister and me. I apologize for his rude, thoughtless comments."

"Nothing I haven't heard before, Marta," Fin responded, relenting as far as she was concerned. She had been nothing but gracious to them and he refused to treat her respect with less than equal courtesy.

"Mom would be heartbroken to think you heard it in her home from her own son," Belle interjected, hoping to gain his attention. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off of him since they met and had been trying to get him to notice her ever since. He was unlike anyone she had ever met and he fascinated her. Catching his hand, she added, "You and John are welcomed guests in our home."

"Maybe I should leave," Paul began, embarrassed and irritated to be chastised by his sisters in front of the other man… and for his thoughtless comment.

"Stop being a jerk and apologize," Marta instructed, reverting out of habit to being her younger siblings' 'second mom'. "You promised Emi you would stay here until Ernesto and his gang are apprehended. She doesn't need to be worrying about you making yourself an easy target because your male pride is wounded that you embarrassed yourself. All of our names are on his hit list and you know it."

Sighing, Paul looked over at the other man. "I am sorry, Fin. I worry about our mother given what she's been though and I was only trying to protect her. I didn't mean what I said to come out like it did. I respect the work you and John do. It's just… I don't want to see her hurt."

"I get that. John Munch is my best friend and I don't want to see him hurt either, but they are both adults," Fin replied, trying hard not to betray his attraction to beautiful woman that was holding his hand. "We don't get to decide who either of them wants to spend time with… get to know."

"She's my mother…" Paul began.

"That means you support her, Paul," Marta interjected. "If she likes John, then you have to respect her right to explore those feelings. You have no more right to interfere in her choices than she does in yours. Show her the same respect she shows you… even when someone desperately needs to tell you your taste in women sucks!"

"Hey…"

-----

"Why don't you make use of my bath and relax with a long, hot soak, John," Emily offered, setting the empty plate and her wine glass by the kitchen sink. "I need to work for a little while and email my research assistant with updates on a paper we're preparing. I'll be up for another hour or so at least."

"You sure I won't be keeping you up?" John asked, struggling to keep the mental image of Emily joining him in her bath at bay.

"I haven't returned any of Donna's messages in two days now, so I'm holding her up from her own work. She's a Masters candidate and our paper is related to her thesis topic," Emily assured him. "I really do need to do a little work tonight so she won't get too far behind."

Grinning, John agreed. "You talked me into it then. Thanks!"

"Great. Do you want a refill on your wine to sip while you relax in the bath?" she asked, pleased. "And you might want to grab a CD to listen to while you soak… heaven!"

"Better watch it… I spoil easily!" he joked, heading back into the den to make a selection. He was back almost immediately. "You really do have a great collection!"

Handing him his wine, she led the way into her suite. Pulling out a large, fluffy white towel from a cabinet next to the vanity, she pointed to the CD player. "There are headphones in the drawer below the player, but I prefer to listen to music from the speakers. I think the sound quality is better that way, but do what you prefer."

Popping open the CD cover, he added the disk to the player. Adjusting the volume, he agreed, "If it won't bother you, I'll listen through the speakers. Not much on headphones either."

Opening the taps to fill the tub, she suggested, "With this type of tub, I like to get in before it gets too full, so I can adjust the level to reach my neck. There are sea salts in the green jar by the tub and body wash in the matching dispenser. Both are eucalyptus and spearmint scent, so it's not too girly. The blue ones are lavender and the red ones are rose, so consider yourself warned."

"Thanks! I'd never hear the end of it from Fin if I came out spelling like roses!" he joked, more than a little aroused to be in such an intimate situation with her.

Giggling, she cut her eyes at him. "I think he's sufficiently distracted not to notice, but it's best not to tempt fate. Relax and enjoy the bath. I'll be in my den."

Puzzled, John asked, "Distracted? Why…"

Shaking her head, Emily walked out of the room, a mischievous grin still on her face. "Later, John. Relax for now."

-----

"Mom?"

Getting no reply, Belle traded a look with her sister. "Do you think she's asleep?"

"I doubt it. She has trouble falling asleep, so it's unlikely she fell asleep this quickly," Marta reasoned. "She may be in the bath."

Nodding, Belle slowly pushed open the door to her mother's bedroom. "Mom?"

Hearing the sounds of one of her mother's favorite Theloneus Monk CD's drifting out of the bath, the two women walked over to the partly closed door. Steam filled the small bath confirming their assumption that Emily was enjoying in one of the few indulgencies she allowed herself, a long, hot bath. Sticking their heads around the door, Belle called, "Mom?"

In was debatable who was the most surprised when a very naked John Munch turned to see who was at the door, the towel he was using to dry himself held loosely in his right hand. "Emily let me use her bath. She's in her den!" John exclaimed, belatedly clutching the towel to his front.

Shocked squeaks were his only response as the embarrassed pair turned and rushed out of the suite. An amused Marta focused on the thought/Who would have guessed? He's so skinny otherwise!/

Belle's thoughts were a far more blunt… /Damn, if Mom and him do hook up, she's in for a BIG surprise!/

John stood frozen in place for several seconds after they left. /Damn, now I know how my parents felt when I walked in on them…/

-----


End file.
